An undiscovered secret
by MidnightWillows
Summary: This is set sometime after Reichenbach, not quite sure how long afterwards though. We all know that John and Sherlock love each other, but this would be the story when they find out themselves. (OBS. The rating might change but that is not certain yet)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.**

**Author's note: This is not BETA-read since it was written on impulse. I am not a native speker of English, so apologies for any grammatical or spelling mistakes. I'm pretty torn apart after that last episode, so it may be a lot of mistakes that I've missed. Like seriously, I don't think it is quite appropriate to love an episode this much... Anyhow, I hope you will enjoy this little story!**

**Please R & R, it would mean a lot! **

Chapter 1

The shrilling sound of a violin woke John with a start. He sighed deeply, and rolled over to look at the watch. It was 3.30. He groaned. Even though he was getting quite used to this kind of incidents, and contrary to Sherlock's seemingly belief, John still liked to sleep. He shut his eyes once again and made a poor effort to block out the sound, but after a minute he realized the pointless in trying to get back to sleep. He dragged himself out of bed, stumbling on the carpet as he went to the door. Well he was up after all; he might as well get a cup of tea. Yawning widely, he entered the living room. Sherlock was sitting on the coffee-table, playing a very melancholy bit of music, and seemed to take no notice of John whatsoever.

"Sherlock, have you any idea what time it is?" John grunted.

"No. Why?"

"It's bloody 3.30 in the morning. Some people actually like to sleep at that time, you know."

"Oh, really? Well it seems like you are not one of those people John, since you're up and awake." Sherlock said, never stopping his playing.

John opened his mouth to argue, but too sleepy to explain the basic need of sleep to Sherlock, he closed it again, starting the process of making tea. When ready, he took his cup and slouched down on the sofa, eyes closed, listening to the immensely beautiful music that Sherlock produced. It made strange emotions flood right through him, in a complete mess. The music was so well composed in every way, John almost felt dizzy. It filled the room; it filled John until he could barely breathe. It went on for what seemed like forever, and the slowly built up crescendo was almost unbearable, and suddenly it just stopped. John opened his eyes and found Sherlock staring at him. He took a sip of his tea, which seemed to clear his mind, silently wondering what had happened to him. He had no idea he could be so affected by music. But then again, it may have something to do with who played it. Why, that was a weird thought! John pushed it away and said "That…was amazing. It was really beautiful Sherlock."

Sherlock looked a bit surprised, and answered with an unusually polite "Thank you, John".

They sat in silence for a while, John sipping his tea, and Sherlock watching him. It would be disturbing, but John was too used to be stared at, he didn't even care. Eventually, he put his now empty cup down on the table, took a deep breath and said "Alright then, tell me. What's on your mind?"

"How did you know?" Sherlock asked, genuinely wondering.

"Well, for a start, you were playing the violin which you always do when you're thinking. You've been pretty quiet for a couple of days, so I assumed there was something in particular on your mind, which, judging by the melody you just played, was a correct assumption. And lastly, you've been staring at me for 15 minutes while I drank my tea and you haven't complained once about me swallowing too loudly, so yeah, something is clearly on your mind."

Sherlock smirked a bit at the last sentence, but after some hesitating, he said "Yes John, your assumptions were quite right. It's just that I am not really sure for myself what is going on, so I don't think I can tell you."

"Wait, so you're saying that the genius Sherlock Holmes is…confused? Have I got it right?" John had trouble keeping the laughter out of his voice.

"Oh shut up, John! It's not the first time you know." Sherlock snapped, and then mumbled something that clearly sounded like "…but I should hope it's the last…"

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry!" John said, more serious this time. "But Sherlock…you know you can talk to me about…things, right? Anything at all."

"Yes I know, John. But I think I must figure this out by myself. Thank you." The last two words were added after a while, but John appreciated them nonetheless.

He nodded "Right then. Good." Sherlock gazed at him for another minute, then he closed his eyes, blocking John out, and started playing another piece of music. John let his eyelids drop and his mind wander. The softness of the music, combined with the warmth of the tea that was now spreading in his body made him very relaxed and he sank even deeper into the sofa-cushions. Within five minutes he was fast asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Oh I would be so happy if I owned Sherlock, but I still don't...**

**I would like to thank those who clicked on this little story. An especially big hug goes to those who followed/favourited after just one chapter; tex812, ChazyChaz13, Drawing4Life and edken. It means a lot more than you can imagine!**

**Well, here is chapter 2 which I hope you'll enjoy! Please comment/review, it would help a lot! XoXo**

Chapter 2

John opened his eyes, and immediately wanted to close them again; it was too early to wake up. He tried to fall asleep again, but now he had a nagging feeling in his body, like an itch you can't quite place. The sleepy mess in his head began to straighten out and something about "work" was making its way up to his more conscious thoughts. He snapped his eyes open and glanced at the watch on the wall. 8.57. _Shit. _

He jumped up from the sofa, a little too fast, making his head spin. After a deep breath to steady himself, he ran into his bedroom and threw on the first pair of clothes he could find. Then he went to the kitchen to try and find something he could eat on the way. He found Sherlock in his usual position by the table, with his eyes looking through the microscope at something which looked awfully lot like toe-nails. He didn't even look up when John rushed into the kitchen, making a mess as he was on hunt for something eatable.

"_Why the hell_ didn't you wake me Sherlock? I'm supposed to be at work in," He glanced at his watch "exactly one minute!"

"I tried to wake you an hour ago, John. You shouted and slapped me. I think the exact words you used were; 'Shut the fuck up Rosie! My flowers aren't heated yet, go away'. I just did what you told me." Sherlock's lip twitched, though he kept his voice natural.

"You should never listen to me while I'm bloody sleeping Sherlock!" John felt angry with him, but at the same time he felt he might show some gratitude. It wasn't Sherlock's fault that he was hard to wake. "Thank you though" He added quickly, before sprinting down the stairs shouting "See you tonight! Don't blow up the flat."

John's day was dull. It usually was, but this particular day seemed endless. During his lunch-break he made sure to text Sherlock, reminding him about all the things that were obvious to anyone, but which Sherlock found too boring. Eating and drinking were two of those things. He received a short reply at this.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, John. SH" But only a minute after he got a series of texts that, in John's opinion, proved otherwise.

"Where do we keep the tea-bags John? SH"

"Found it. Pretty well deduced if I might say so myself. SH"

"Seriously? We keep the bread in the cupboard above the fridge? That is not logic John. SH"

"Where are the bloody beans, John? SH"

"Great! I spilled the beans. SH"

"That's it. I'm not cooking again. Ever! SH"

"When will you be home? SH"

All the texts arrived within three minutes, and John couldn't help but laugh a little. Sherlock could really be a child sometimes. Not that he minded taking care of him, he really didn't. He quickly scribbled a reply to Sherlock.

"Just leave it; I'll clean up when I get home, (at 17.30 as I always do). Try not to break anything else. See you soon! JW"

He then put on a big fake smile and greeted his first after-lunch patient. After what felt like an eternity, John finally packed up his things and made his way home, knowing he had beans and god knows what else to clean up. He heard the violin already out on the street. Right, so it was a thinking night John established, and opened the door to the flat.

Something was wrong, he could tell right away. It was a special atmosphere over Sherlock and the way he greeted John. He seemed almost…proud about something. It smelled something weird too. Not in a bad way though, just unusual. John walked into the kitchen and found it completely clean. Well as clean as it can get when you have various high-questionable experiments all over the place. But there were no beans to clean up, or any glasses that were smashed. In fact, a plate with food seemed to be made for John, standing on the counter. John furrowed his brow and slowly turned around, finding Sherlock almost bouncing up and down of barely contained joy. "Sherlock…have you cooked? For me?"

"Indeed I have John, I have made you dinner!" The pride was unmistakable as Sherlock gestured for John to sit down at the table.

But John remained standing, looking completely puzzled. "Wait, so you're saying you've actually made this…for me?"

Sherlock began to look a bit annoyed which made John quickly take place at the table, plate in front of him. "Yes John I made this. Why is that so hard to believe?"

John already had a mouthful which made it hard to answer, and god it was delicious! He said this to Sherlock which seemed to increase his little bouncing, as he watched John eat.

"I thought you were never going to cook again? It certainly sounded that way earlier today."

"Oh John, I can be melodramatic!" Sherlock was still smiling, and it seemed as John had been wrong about it being a thinking-night. Sherlock did actually play the violin when happy as well, it was just that it was very rare.

"Well it was really good, thank you Sherlock! Have you eaten anything yourself? Beside bread and spilled beans, I mean." John eyed the other man suspiciously but relaxed as he got a positive reply. He was still wondering why Sherlock had suddenly made him dinner, something he never would have dreamed would happen. When he asked that question though, Sherlock seemed almost a bit embarrassed. "I just wanted to do something for you John…as you do for me. I know I may not be the easiest person to live with" John snorted, "but I still appreciate everything you do. And I just wanted to do something in return. Isn't that what people do?"

"Wow Sherlock, I never thought you'd noticed what a dick-head you can be at times" John joked, but stopped smiling as he saw Sherlock's face. "No, sorry. I mean thank you, really. It was…I appreciate it. Thanks." They became silent and John felt the need to break it so he added "I don't expect it to become a habit though, don't worry." Sherlock smiled a bit at the statement, the kind of smile that always seemed to warm John up from the inside and out, and he was glad to see that Sherlock seemed more at ease than the previous night.

John cleaned the dishes after his meal and when he turned around he found Sherlock a lot closer than expected. John almost bumped into his chest, being the shorter one. "Oh sorry, I didn't realize you were there…" His words trailed off as he looked into the taller man's eyes. John had never thought about how beautiful eyes Sherlock had. The vague light reflected in them, making them glow with a certain color John hadn't seen before. For a moment they just stood there, gazing into each other's eyes and John had to suppress a strong urge to raise his hand and brush away a lonely curl that had escaped the rest of them and hung down Sherlock's forehead. Suddenly coming back to reality, John straightened himself and mumbling something about going to bed; he quickly exited the kitchen and headed towards his bedroom.

Even when he was safely inside, and tucked under his duvet, John couldn't shake the feeling that the bit awkward kitchen encounter had stirred in him. It was a tingling feeling, a strong need to do something, but he didn't know what. Was it possible that he was attracted to Sherlock…for real? No it couldn't be! It must be something else... He turned and twisted everything he knew, and everything he'd felt, trying to put the pieces together, but never coming up with an answer. It took a long time before he managed to fall asleep, and when he finally did, it was a restless slumber filled with dreams of black suits, long coats and curly hair.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or my precious John, which I will always be sad about...**

**This chapter contains a mention of my version of the night when Sherlock returns which, as all of you who've seen The Empty Hearse know, is a bit different. Though I totally loved that episode, I do however like this little turn of events as well. I know this is a short chapter, but school has started which makes time my biggest enemy. Will try to update a longer one tomorrow! Enjoy! **

Chapter 3

John was, if possible, even more tired when he woke up than the day before. He hadn't gotten much sleep at all these last two weeks. Last week because of a case, and this week because of all this new weird stuff happening to him. He thought it over once more. He thought about last night and couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if he'd stayed in the kitchen. He felt almost empty inside, but still full of emotions. He didn't even know what was up and what was down anymore. "Oh get a grip on yourself, John Watson" he thought angrily, and made his way out of bed.

He was secretly hoping that he would be alone, and almost tip-toed into his own kitchen, as if it would fool Sherlock anyway. But he was lucky today, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen and since his coat was gone, John assumed he was down at the Yard. He drank his morning-tea slowly, head still buzzing with thoughts. It had just started to rain outside as John made his way to work, mentally preparing himself for another useless day.

After finally surviving work, John walked home slowly in the rain, allowing himself to think. All day his thoughts had wandered to Sherlock, and he still couldn't figure out what was happening to him. He'd never thought about another man this way before, and certainly not about Sherlock.

_NOT TRUE._ A shrill and _oh so annoying_ voice was keening on John's attention from somewhere at the back of his mind. _NOT TRUE. _

Well yeah, of course it was that one time. _On The Night Of The Return._ John had cried, yelled, punched him in the face repeatedly and called Sherlock by every name he could think of. Then he eventually broke into pieces and he'd slammed Sherlock against the wall and kissed him with all his force. It hadn't been much of a romantic gesture; it was more an expression of everything he couldn't put into words. Then realization of what he was actually doing had hit him and he had released Sherlock, slammed the door of his bedroom shut and not spoken to him in a week.

They had never mentioned that incident, and as far as John was concerned, there was no need to change that now. It was almost a year ago, so what would be the point? He had always thought that the immense warmth towards Sherlock and the need to protect him was just an effect of having lost him once; at least those feelings had increased after he came back. The tingling feeling he felt whenever Sherlock was close to him, the strong urge to hold him and never let go, that was surely just happiness and gratitude that he was back. Nothing else.

But the memory of Sherlock's lips against his own made him feel things. Unexpected things. He wanted to feel that again, that much he was certain about. But no, he couldn't. He wasn't even sure what he wanted anymore. Apart from the fact that John wasn't actually gay (hah), Sherlock was completely uninterested and married to his work. Not to mention they were flat mates and John certainly did not want to move. Oh, and the fact that Sherlock was his best friend. He wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that. He had lost him once; he was not going through that again.

With all these arguments in his head, John sighed deeply and decided to push away these weird feelings where he would never have to deal with them again. He opened the door to the flat and stepped inside, wanting nothing more than a cup of tea and an early night. Sherlock however, seemed to have completely different plans about that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: They're making me say it again, but I don't own Sherlock in any way!**

**Hello again! This chapter is a bit longer than before, but I just couldn't stop once I started writing! I want to thank all of those who have read this story so far, and especially my new followers/favouriters: Simple Sensation, FrauGumilyova, Little miss Austen, vatroncale, MFGhoulscout and WiselyChosen. I wish I could hug you all! Reviews/comments are always appreciated, both good and bad! Anyhow, stay awesome! :)**

Chapter 4

As soon as he'd stepped through the door Sherlock was in front of him, tugging on his jacket, an almost electric glow to him. "John, go change your clothes quickly. We are going out." The man seemed eager and very impatient, and seemed completely oblivious to why John wasn't running full speed into his bedroom to find clothes.

"Sherlock, what are you talking about? I'm not going anywhere, I have worked all day and I'm tired as hell." John was feeling a bit annoyed, he was too worn out right now to deal with Sherlock's many impulses. But Sherlock clearly wasn't listening to him. "Oh come on John, hurry! It's for a case, and this particular bar might be the final clue." Sherlock stated, as he started to shove John in front of him, heading towards the bedroom. "Then why don't you just go there by yourself Sherlock? I am really not in the mood for going out!" But John could have spoken to a wall and it would have paid more attention to his words. Sherlock had started to rip out John's clothes, leaving an impressive pile on the floor, mumbling about "…the perfect outfit..." John really, _really _didn't want to go anywhere but he couldn't help admire the other man and the way he always got so caught up in the game. Maybe he could come, just for a while and then leave early? It was Friday after all, and he didn't need to go to work tomorrow. And when Sherlock straightened himself, having finally found the perfect clothes for John and smiling that amazing smile of his, John couldn't help but smile back a little, holding out his arms to receive the clothes.

He went to the bathroom to change, and even though it was a shirt he hadn't worn for ages and didn't really like, he thought it looked rather good together with the pants and the cardigan Sherlock had picked out for him. That man really had an eye for clothes, he thought as he exited the bathroom, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Sherlock coming out of his bedroom at the same time. He had changed his clothes too. He was wearing black slim-fitted jeans (_jeans?_), and that purple shirt that John had always liked. He'd rolled up the sleeves a bit and left two buttons unbuttoned which exposed that long neck of his. He looked…gorgeous, John thought. Still in a completely heterosexual kind of way of course. He coughed a little, straightened himself and said briskly "Alright then, shall we go?"

Sherlock managed to get a cab within seconds, another talent of his that John could never understand. Once inside the car, John thought he might ask about the case. He had worked a lot during the last week, due to an epidemic of flu going around, so he hadn't been involved with this case at all, which was very rare. But when he asked, Sherlock looked seemed to think it over and then said "Sorry John, but I think it would be best for this particular part that you don't know anything." He didn't look sad at all though, he was actually smirking a bit. John was annoyed at this, "Why did you even want me to come then? If you're not going to tell me anything? I could be home, watching telly and drinking tea." John pouted a little, like a petulant child. But he wasn't used to be held outside of a case, and he didn't like it. "Well I couldn't go to a bar all by myself a Friday night now, could I? Who knows what might happen?" Sherlock said, amused at John's reaction. But they didn't have time to discuss it any further, as the cab drove up in front of a fancy looking bar.

John stared at the stairs leading up to big glass-doors with four guards outside. Not having the energy to be annoyed at Sherlock, he said "Bloody hell, what is this place Sherlock?" Sherlock paid the cabby and answered, "It's an elite club, sort of. It's where all the upper-class, businessmen, rich heirs and that sort of people meet. I think Mycroft used to go here, unsurprisingly." John chuckled at the last comment, and followed Sherlock up the stairs. From somewhere in his pocket, Sherlock produced what seemed to be a member-card, no doubt pick-pocketed from Mycroft at some point. The guards greeted them both, and they stepped inside the glass-doors.

There were a lot of people inside, being a Friday night. The music wasn't loud, it seemed like the first room was more of a sitting lounge. At a table near the door sat four stern-looking men in suits, having a fierce discussion of what sounded like whether or not England should develop their own nuclear power. At another table were two older women, with sparkling jewels and big fur-coats. It seemed like this club was open to anyone with enough money to buy a smaller town. John followed Sherlock to the second room, where the music was significantly louder as it contained a large dance-floor. Sherlock led the way to the bar, sitting himself down on a stool, gesturing towards the bartender and ordering two drinks. "Are you drinking Sherlock?" John asked surprised. "Of course not, but I can't just sit here watching other people drink. I think that would be what they call creepy."

They sat at the bar, John sipping on his drink and, eventually Sherlock's as well. The detective let his eyes wander through the crowd, searching for something or someone, but John didn't bother to ask any questions, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't answer them. The DJ started playing Rihanna's song Umbrella, and suddenly John started to chuckle. "What?" Sherlock asked, looking surprised at the sudden noise.

"Oh I was just thinking of Mycroft. You know, if he should ever use a pick-up line he should sing this song. 'You can stand under my umbrella'."

Sherlock laughed at this. "Yeah, I wonder if that was what he used on Lestrade." John stopped his chuckling "What do you mean, Lestrade? What are you talking about?" Sherlock looked clearly amused. "Oh you seriously haven't noticed? I think they've been shagging for quite some time now. Although I didn't notice myself until about two weeks ago." John just stared at him, mouth hanging open and looking completely puzzled. "Wait a minute. Are you saying that your brother is hooking up with Greg? Seriously?" John couldn't believe his ears. Sherlock looked smug "Haven't you noticed how Lestrade winces slightly when he is about to sit down? Or how he always blushes at the mention of my brother? Or how Mycroft always seem to defend Lestrade, even though they are not supposed to know each other that well? Seriously John, that wasn't even a hard deduction to make, even you could have done that same conclusion!"

John still couldn't believe what he was hearing. But Sherlock was never wrong, and come to think of it, he could see some of the signs mentioned. He thought he'd feel more reluctant at the idea, but all he could do was feel happy for them both. He knew that both men had been lonely a long time, and if they made each other happy, John certainly was not going to be the one to argue. Another feeling, which strongly resembled awe, was demanding John's attention, but he strongly defeated it. No he was not jealous, he was completely fine! Taking the last of Sherlock's drink, he turned around to talk to the detective, only to find the stool empty. Oh great, now Sherlock was gone and John was stuck in a bloody upper-class club all by himself.

Sherlock's stool became occupied rather quickly though, as a beautiful woman sat down next to John, smiling widely at him. "Hello gorgeous!" She said flirty, leaning in towards him. "What are you doing here, all by yourself? Need someone to take care of you maybe?" John opened his mouth, but before he could answer he felt a hand on his shoulder and a deep voice above him "I am terribly sorry, but I am afraid that he is already taken." The woman made a sad-face but said politely "Congratulations then, you've made quite the catch!" And with a wink in John's direction she was off.

"What the hell was that Sherlock?" John exclaimed as Sherlock released the pressure on his shoulder, though his hand remained there. "Oh believe me John, you wouldn't want her anyway. Single, depressed, mom of three children. Desperate to find a rich man to marry who can provide for her. She managed to sneak in here because of a main coincidence, and being desperate she goes for anything that walks on two legs."

"Thank you for that compliment." John said sarcastically. But on some level he couldn't even be annoyed at Sherlock. He'd felt almost too good when Sherlock proclaimed him taken. Almost as if they were together. The thought made John feel things that were not good, and he knew he was out on dangerous territory. Sherlock certainly didn't make it better when he leaned down and whispered in John's ear "I think we should leave. I've just hand-cuffed one of the biggest drug-dealers in London to a toilet." John could barely focus on the words as Sherlock's warm breath touched his ear, but nodded. He took Sherlock's offered hand and they made their way through the crowd, John trying to clear his mind of inappropriate thoughts.

As soon as they were outside he repeated what he'd just heard. "You just hand-cuffed a drug-dealer to a toilet on one of London's high-class clubs? How did you even manage to get him in there in the first place?" John was disbelieving but Sherlock said in a low voice "I can be pretty convincing actually. If you just know what to offer, you can get anyone almost anywhere, and this particular man seemed more than a bit interested to…get to know me better. I just played along, and got him where I wanted. I've called Lestrade and they're on their way to collect him now. We don't have to stay, so I say we get home now. After all, you didn't even want to come in the first place, so now let's get you home to your precious tea and telly."

He turned around to stop a cab and John, still processing the information that Sherlock had somewhat seduced London's most dangerous drug-dealer, promising god knows what, just stared at him. Following Sherlock into the now awaiting car, he contemplated when this had become his regular Friday nights.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own, have never owned and never will own Sherlock. There you have it!**

**I'll be away during the weekend so I probably won't update until Monday... As always, a huge thank you to all of my readers, and especially HisPhantomess, GoTherka, Divergentshadowhunter99, not-so-sane-sam and ParaMi who recently followed/favourited this story, you are gold! A big hug goes to MrsThreepwood for your kind words :)**

**Comments/reviews are always appriciated! Stay awesome dear folks :)**

Chapter 5

The following day, Sherlock went down to the Yard to leave his statement, and most likely insult some people for not catching the drug-dealer sooner. John chose to stay home and have a well-deserved lie-in. He was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, letting his mind wander. As much as he had tried to ignore and push away the things he'd felt lately, something had definitely changed last night. John wasn't sure if it was seeing Sherlock in that outfit (come on, that shirt would make anyone crumble and fall), or if it was that _god damn_ whisper in his ear. Or maybe it was that Sherlock actually told him he'd seduced that man, it had really set John's mind into high gear.

No matter how much he didn't want to feel like this, he couldn't ignore it any longer. He was most definitely attracted to Sherlock; that much was pretty clear to him by now. But it wasn't just physical attraction, it was more. John tried to remember other times and how he'd felt then, and well, it did not look good. He thought about how much he admired Sherlock, how much he loved that smile of his, how he never stopped worrying about him, that he always wanted him to be safe, that he would give his life for him without even a second of doubt. He thought about the tingling feeling he felt every time Sherlock touched him, and how it sometimes became hard to breathe when he was too close. Every sign pointed in the direction of "being in love". Suddenly it was so clear to him that he almost laughed. How could it have taken him this long to realize it? "Well that's it," John thought, "I, John Watson am in love with bloody Sherlock Holmes."

In a way it almost was a relief to have come to this conclusion, it felt like if a weight he'd carried for a long time, suddenly was removed. On the other hand he suddenly realized how much would be different from now on. Would he be able to hold his feelings a secret from Sherlock? The world's only consulting detective who knew what you had for breakfast just by looking at your hair. But John was certain; he was not going to ruin his friendship with Sherlock. Their friendship was the most important thing in the world, and John wouldn't trade it for anything. Having settled that matter, John crawled out of bed, longing for a nice cup of tea.

A couple of hours later, Sherlock returned, looking rather glum. "What is it Sherlock?" John asked immediately, worried that something had happened down at the Yard. Sherlock sat down in his chair looking directly at John, his eyes boring into John's and slowly said "I am bored, John. I haven't had a case in," he glanced at his watch, "thirteen hours." John, expecting something far worse than this just chuckled at his eccentric flat-mate. "You know, sometimes it's actually good to take a break every once in a while Sherlock. Try to read a book or something. You don't have to run around London chasing murderers every day, maybe once a week will do?"

"Oh don't you know me at all John? I need cases, I need the game!"

He was quiet for a while until he suddenly shouted "Where are my cigarettes? I need them now John!" Sherlock's tone went from bored to almost desperate as a clearly sudden craving for nicotine startled the man.

"No, NO Sherlock. We agreed that you would stop. I am not giving you any cigarettes. Besides, you threw them all out remember? And Mrs. Hudson's spare package as well. You are not giving in for this, I'm not letting you!" John was firm. If there was one thing they'd really agreed about it was the smoking. Whatever happened, he was not going to give in, not even if Sherlock looked at him with his adorable puppy-eyes or begged on his knees. Sherlock started pacing the living room, muttering things under his breath. Then he walked straight out into the kitchen, and John heard him looking for something. After a while he returned with a large glass of what seemed like whiskey. "No comments," Sherlock shot a glance at John, "if I can't have my nicotine, this is the least I deserve, right?"

"Sherlock it's completely fine. I was the one who just told you to relax now, didn't I?" They were silent for a while until John asked "So how did it go down at the Yard. The statement worked out alright?"

"Yes. Although I looked through the entire investigation, and they could have caught him about three months ago, if they had let me in on the case sooner. But I guess their average minds couldn't come up with the simple thing that the green football told us everything we needed to know about his net of smugglers." John didn't even reply, just wondering silently how many enemies Sherlock had made among the policemen at the Yard today. He suspected that Lestrade had endured a lot from Sherlock, and made a mental note to text him later and apologize in Sherlock's behalf. He got interrupted in his trail of thoughts as Sherlock loudly proclaimed "I need to think, John"

"Well be my guest, Sherlock" John said lazily.

"I can't. I'm stuck, it's all stuck. I can't even play the violin anymore; it's as if the notes won't come out."

John, recognized this distressed behavior as similar to some nights ago, and remembered that Sherlock had something on his mind. He had just forgotten about it between work, the club-thing last night, and the startling revelation he'd come up with earlier. "Yes. Right. Sherlock, you said you were thinking of something particular a little while ago. Have you been able to figure it out yet?"

"No. That is what bothers me, what is keeping me down and make me unable to think." Sherlock said, looking almost offended at the thought that something could keep him from thinking. John couldn't help but think of this reaction as similar to the one at Baskerville, where Sherlock had been just as distressed, and also a bit afraid.

"I'll just say it again. If you want, you could talk to me. No matter what it is, I'll listen. Maybe I could help? But you have to talk to me; I can never tell what is going on in that brilliant mind of yours."

Sherlock seemed to debate whether or not he should go on, then said slowly, "There is something wrong with me. I keep having these nightmares, about you being taken away. And when I wake up I have a nagging sensation in my stomach. When you're away I feel it hard to concentrate and it bothers me when you talk to other people. I don't like it John!"

John watched Sherlock, amazed at his words and wondering if the other man knew exactly what he was saying, and what those words might mean. He tried to ignore that flaming sparkle of hope that had risen in his chest, and the fluttering in his stomach. He pondered for a moment what he should answer, then said slowly "Do you know what it is you're describing, Sherlock?"

"Yes" Sherlock looked almost disgusted. "Sentiment."


	6. Chapter 6

**Yes yes now I'm back :) Not really satisfied with this chapter, but school takes a lot of my time right now. Thank you for the PM:s, and please keep throwing your suggestions at me, it's nice to know what you want out of this story. Oh and thanks to my latest follower: alimela8 :) **

**Please review/comment! Lots of love to you all! **

Chapter 6

John's little flame of hope died in a second. How could he ever have thought that Sherlock would care about him? That way he had said "sentiment" had clearly stated that he did not like the feeling, and what Sherlock didn't like, he usually got rid of (maybe except for Mycroft). Perhaps John overreacted a bit, but considering his newly discovered feelings for Sherlock he found himself to be rather vulnerable, and it actually hurt to see that even though Sherlock cared about him, he clearly didn't want to.

John cleared his throat a bit, to keep his voice from cracking, and then said "Stop caring then Sherlock. No one forces you." He stood up to leave the room when a hand suddenly gripped his arm, stopping him. "I can't John. I have tried, but I just can't." Sherlock caught himself and quickly corrected, "No I didn't mean it like that. I want to care about you John. I am just not used to this kind of feeling, I have never cared for another person before, if you don't count Mycroft, but I don't think we should. But I am afraid John, because caring is not an advantage. It puts you and me in a much greater danger. If my only vulnerability is you, who do you think will be the obvious target? It would be you, John. Which is why I haven't allowed myself to care before, but I can't stop anymore. It is too much too bare." Sherlock looked into John's eyes "I am sorry".

"No no Sherlock, don't apologize for caring." John turned back, and kneeling beside Sherlock's chair he said in a soft voice "Never apologize for being yourself Sherlock. If you, caring about me mean that I'm in greater danger, I would have it every day. I think most people have figured that out quicker than you actually, haven't you noticed how I'm usually the target when it comes to you?" John said, chuckling a little, more to ease the tension than anything else.

But Sherlock didn't smile. He still looked John straight in the eye. "You don't understand John. You will get hurt, some way or another. If not someone else, then I will hurt you in some way. That's why people always leave. Maybe you should too, before it is too late."

John suddenly felt very cold. He was listening to the other man and he couldn't believe what he was saying. The detective had never spoken like this before, about other people leaving, about the fear of doing something wrong. He didn't know what to say at first, but he finally decided to ask "Sherlock, do you want me to leave?"

Sherlock looked like John had punched him in the face. He was quiet for a minute and then he said quietly "I never want you to leave, John." John relaxed a bit after the words he longed for was spoken and, taking Sherlock's hand he said "Then I never will."

"Are you sure?"

"More than ever before." John stated in a voice that was both soothing, and clearly said that the discussion was over. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to move. It was a bit too nice sitting beside Sherlock like this. Sherlock seemed to have wandered off in his own thoughts, but he nevertheless kept John's hand in his. It was warm and comfortable, and John couldn't help but taking in the beauty of the moment. He watched Sherlock in a rather not-so-discreet way. He took in every inch of the other man's face, his closed eyes, and the full lips. His gaze wandered down to Sherlock's other hand, where the fingers danced across the thigh in a sort of random rhythm, and John realized the detective was composing. He wondered if it was subconsciously, and wished he could hear whatever it was Sherlock heard in his head.

Suddenly Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he watched John with such intensity that he almost felt it a bit hard to breathe. His heart-rate went up, and he cursed himself for blushing so easily. He was desperately trying to come up with anything to say, just to stop this, but all he could think about was the sudden urge to just lean forward and kiss him. He realized that this was becoming too dangerous and, reluctantly letting go of Sherlock's hand, he stood up. Sherlock's gaze followed him, and he looked thoughtful, a crease in his forehead as though he was working on a particular difficult clue. "I don't understand." He said slowly.

"What don't you understand Sherlock?" John asked, quickly going through their latest cases in his head, but couldn't come up with any missed clues. Sherlock stood up, facing John, once again looking directly into his eyes and mumbled "…but it seems like I'm right…"

"What Sherlock? Stop doing that, I can't follow you." John was feeling a bit uncomfortable under Sherlock's intense stare, and wanted to get out of the room and the weird atmosphere as quickly as possible, but at Sherlock's next words he found himself glued to the floor.

"I took your pulse, John"


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello lovely people! I was planning on getting this up yesterday, but my mind got a bit stuck... I just really want to thank you for the kind words I have recieved! And a huge hug to my new followers/favouriters to this story: Sanqvi, Lurigna, Cati3M, Memphisyourastar, saturn88jpyahoo, jujulib63 and Ellicinderpart, you guys make me dance with happiness! **

**Anyway, I hope this lives up to your expectations. Here we go! :)**

Chapter 7

John stood dead frozen. He knew exactly what those words meant. But no, he couldn't lose everything now; he had to come up with something. Sherlock still stood with his gaze locked upon John, but now his eyes held a look of sudden understanding. And when John met his eyes again, he could see his secret reflected in Sherlock's eyes, as if looking into a mirror. But John wasn't ready, not yet. He wasn't prepared to hear the words out loud. Faking a puzzled look he said "I really don't follow you Sherlock." And before Sherlock had any time to reply he cleared his throat and quickly added "I feel a bit tired, I should probably go to bed. Might be a cold or something on the way…" He trailed off, knowing that the terribly bad lie was not going to fool anyone, least of all Sherlock. But John figured if he could just get out of the room, and away from Sherlock, it would all be forgotten. He really couldn't stand it any longer, and as he felt his eyes start to prickle he started walking towards his bedroom.

"But John…" Sherlock sounded questioning, and he grabbed John's arm to stop him from leaving.

"Sherlock I can't….please…I'm not...just let me go alright? I'll talk to you in the morning" John almost whispered, his face turned away from Sherlock so he wouldn't be able to see how his eyes had filled with stupid tears. Sherlock didn't say anything, but let him go. John felt his eyes on his back as he closed the door behind him.

He slumped down on the bed, ignoring the tears now running from his eyes. He knew it was over, that Sherlock knew. He didn't even get a chance to prepare himself, and now it was all ruined. He knew that just because he ran out this time, it wouldn't disappear. Sherlock would bring it up at some point; he just had to be prepared when it happened. John sighed and lay down on the bed. Hadn't he learned too many times that running away from your problems doesn't solve them? They just come back later, biting your ass. With his thoughts in a messy heap, John fell asleep, dreading the following day.

But Sherlock didn't bring it up the next day. When John came into the kitchen the next morning he found Sherlock by the stove, frying pancakes (?). He greeted John in a cheerful tone. "Good morning John, I hope you slept well" This was a rather unnecessary comment, giving the huge black circles under John's eyes, but he chose to ignore that. Sherlock went on "I have made you pancakes; I figured you would want something steady today. We have got a case John!" Sherlock's eyes gleamed with joy as he dumped a pile of pancakes on John's plate and, to John's delight; he served some to himself as well. "Well if Sherlock doesn't bring up last night, I certainly won't either" John thought, a bit relieved, though not entirely certain, and with a "Thank you" to Sherlock, he started on his pancakes.

An hour later they were in a cab heading towards the Yard. Sherlock had briefed John quickly about the case. A body had been found in an alley, but the heart was missing and nowhere to be found. But there was one more thing; there was a message on the wall beside the body, written in what seemed to be blood, but that's all they knew. Sherlock didn't know what the message was yet, but John could tell the other man was excited as a child on Christmas. Trying to forget the awkward last night, John smiled at Sherlock. He would never grow tired of the atmosphere Sherlock created around him when he got a case.

When they were just about to walk into Lestrade's office, the door opened and they nearly bumped into Mycroft. John was surprised, but Sherlock seemed like it was an every-day thing that he met his brother down at the Yard. "Oh hello brother! Grown sudden interests in investigation have you?" Sherlock's voice was dripping with sarcasm. But Mycroft wasn't far behind, "Yes as a matter of fact I have dear brother. It just depends on what…area you're investigating" he replied, smirking at Sherlock. And with a quick glance back at Lestrade and a small nod in John's direction, he was off.

Lestrade seemed very embarrassed and was obviously trying to come up with a reasonable explanation to why the head of the British Government suddenly had decided to check in. But before he could come up with anything, Sherlock cut in "Oh get over it Lestrade. We all know you've been shagging for months. Just bring me the file so I can get to work. I sincerely hope that is why you called me in, and not to ask for permission to date my brother or anything like that?" Lestrade went tomato-red, but managed to stutter out something about getting the file and he quickly exited his office.

"You should leave him alone Sherlock" John said, imagining Lestrade's embarrassment. But Sherlock took no notice of him, and threw himself over the material which Lestrade brought in a moment later. There wasn't a lot, since the body had been found just hours ago. But there were some photos of the body, and the message on the wall. Well, message was sort of an overstatement; it was actually just one word, "Tinkor." John couldn't possible understand what it all meant, but Sherlock's face lit up when he saw the word. "Oh it's clever alright, really clever…" and with a sharper voice he said "Lestrade, I think we can expect several more bodies in the next few days. Now bring us to the crime-scene."

"How do you know it will be more bodies?" John asked puzzled. "Oh can't you see it?" Sherlock walked out the door shouting back as he went.

"It's a game John. It's finally a game!"


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm sorry this took so long to get up, but I've had a bit of a mind-block these last few days. It's much harder than you think, trying to write up a case. I hope I did well though... :) Anyhow, I would like to thank my new followers/favouriters: earthdancer1, bandgeek5100, Undercover Reader, KappasRule, LeafCatcher36 and Fianna Hira, you probably can't imagine how happy you make me!**

**A bucket of love goes to creamtea-with-a-madman, partly because of her lovely reviews, but mostly beacause she is such an amazing person, but she doesn't always realize how amazing she really is! **

**I'm also sending a million hugs to Wuthering Wilde for her extraordinary kind words, her lovely opinions on this story and, because she makes me dance like Sherlock!**

**Enough with the rambling! I hope you all enjoy this little chapter, and continue to be the awesome people that you are :)**

Chapter 8

They had barely made it to the crime-scene when Lestrade got a phone-call about another body. Sherlock decided to look around at the first body, before they went to see the second one. "I need to be there before all the brain deprived people who call themselves useful start to destroy all the important evidence" He said, casting a non-discreet look towards Anderson who, luckily enough wasn't paying attention to him. John, however, quickly led Sherlock further in the alley to avoid any kind of unnecessary encounter.

The corpse, who had not so long ago been a living man, was sitting upright against the wall. He looked almost untouched. His clothes were completely clean and whole, apart from the hole in his chest where his heart would be. Over his head was the word "Tinkor" scribbled in large, red letters. Sherlock seemed to look over every inch of the ground, the body, and the wall. Then he straightened up and said "It's not blood. It's just red paint. I'm sorry John, but I don't think we'll need your medical opinion. It's quite clear what killed him, don't you think? Now bring us to the second body Lestrade."

"Wha- wait Sherlock? That's all you have to say? No theories?" Lestrade said, gesturing towards the body, clearly a bit annoyed at the lack of information.

"Six, so far. Now let's see the other body." Sherlock turned on his heel and walked back to the main road. John gave Lestrade an apologetic look, and they both followed Sherlock's steps. John and Sherlock took a cab since Sherlock still refused to ride with a police-car. He was sitting with his eyes closed, but a small smile on his face, as if remembering something pleasant. John couldn't take his eyes off the detective, and he allowed himself to savor this moment, knowing it was a rare occasion and that he had to be more careful about where he rested his eyes in the future.

When they arrived at the second crime-scene, Sherlock quickly jumped out of the cab, leaving John to pay as usual. They had arrived to a rather dodgy street, and just as the first victim this body was at the end of a dark alley. Lestrade strode off to give orders to the awaiting policemen, and John followed Sherlock.

It was as if they hadn't even left the first crime-scene. It was another body, but it looked exactly the same. It was also a man, and his clothes were clean, but the hole in his chest gaped open like an abyss. He too, was sitting upright, almost like he was just resting, and John found it a bit creepy how neutral he looked. He would probably never get over this, to look at a body, knowing that its heart was beating just hours ago. He swallowed and looked up at the wall. There was a word, written in red just like the other one. But this time it said "Tailor". John suddenly remembered the nursery rhyme that he and Harry used to sing as children. "Sherlock, have you noticed how..."

"Yes yes, I know, it's a rhyme. I have sung it too as a child." Sherlock cut off, while searching the man's shirt.

While John tried his best not to picture Sherlock as a child at this inappropriate moment, he crouched down beside the body to examine it closer. Apart from the obvious missing heart, the body looked almost alive. The cause of death seemed to be "just" the removal of the heart. There were no signs of struggling, no bruises on the neck, no splinters under the finger-nails, it was all too clean and John once again got an uneasy feeling about all this. They were clearly dealing with someone who liked things clean, and organized. John opened his mouth to share this with Sherlock, when Lestrade came running, his phone to his ear. "There is two more bodies" he exclaimed, the voice almost cracking out of stress.

"Let me guess…the scenes are identical to this one apart from the words on the wall which says 'Soldier' on one of them, and 'Sailor' on the other one. The victims are equally clean and about the same age as the first two, and they were both found in an alley similar to this one. Am I right?" Sherlock rambled on, already knowing he was.

"Ye-Yes, how did you know?" Lestrade sounded distressed.

"Doesn't matter. We don't need to see the other bodies; I already got what I need. John, let's go." Sherlock gestured toward John who quickly said goodbye to Lestrade, feeling a bit guilty for leaving him with such a work-load. But he knew that Sherlock was on to something, otherwise he wouldn't have left without even looking at the other bodies. They sat in silence on the ride home, Sherlock once again with closed eyes, probably wandering around in his bloody mind-palace, John thought. He didn't know why this particular case had affected him like this, but he just couldn't shake the uneasy feeling he'd gotten.

When they entered the flat, Sherlock promptly walked over to the sofa, lying down in his "thinking-position" and John knew better than to disturb him. He didn't really mind having a quiet night either. He made dinner for himself, not even bothering to ask Sherlock, knowing he would probably not even get a reply from the detective. Sitting alone in the kitchen, he started reciting the nursery-rhyme in his head.

"Tinkor, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor.

Rich man, Poor man, Beggar man, Thief."

He said it over and over again, but he couldn't figure it out. Why would someone kill four men, and then make it look almost like a child's game?

Sherlock seemed to have thought in the exact same patterns, because he suddenly rushed into the kitchen, his curly hair sticking out. "John I've got it!" He exclaimed brightly. "You know how the rhyme is usually used to pick something or someone out of a game? It's exactly the opposite! She has made the rhyme to decide who will live, instead of who should die." Sherlock almost danced with joy.

"She? How do you know it's a she?" John asked.

"Oh it's obvious John! You noticed how the victims were completely clean, right? And their clothes were all new and whole, except for the hole over their missing heart? Statistically, women are more likely to be organized, and care about clothes, which most men find completely uninteresting. Since the clothes were clean, the hole were obviously made in advance, and the victims were dressed after their hearts were removed. The cut and removal of the heart were very nicely done, so we are probably looking for someone with medical skills, most likely a doctor or a pathologist."

"Wow Sherlock... But how do you know who we're looking for? And why these men in particular?" John was still puzzled.

"I know." Sherlock smirked. "Oh that's easy John! The first victim was a man named Thomas Albeit, a doctor who works at Manlowe Hospital. I checked their staff-records and there was a female doctor who got fired last week, named Joanna Hill. Why? Because they had an affair, and he gave her the blame for it. You'd think she'd get pretty upset about it yes, but she wanted to punish him properly. So she sedated him, cut out his heart and, because she like things clean, she had to put on new clothes. The other men were also past lovers who most likely dumped her, and she probably thought she'd take out her revenge on all of them at once.

Why the nursery-rhyme? She is a pediatrician, obsessed with children. She wanted it to look like an innocent child's-game. Combined with a dose of OCD, she made all the crime-scenes exactly alike, which also was a part of the game for her. She did, however leave way too many clues to not be found, which indicates that she most likely wanted to be caught, before she killed her 'Rich Man'. She hasn't yet decided who to leave alive..."

"That was bloody fantastic Sherlock!" John couldn't keep the admiration out of his voice. "So it's solved then?"

"One phone-call to Lestrade, then it's done" Sherlock beamed, significantly proud to have solved the case in less than ten hours. "And it was all because of you John" Sherlock's voice dropped to an almost whisper, and suddenly he was approaching John, closer and closer, that intense look back in his eyes.

"All because of you" He whispered again, before he put his arms around him, in a very quick, but sincere hug. It was over in a moment, and Sherlock quickly retreated back to his bedroom to phone Lestrade. While he heard the detectives' deep voice rumbling through the flat, John remained in the kitchen, trying to grasp the fact that Sherlock Holmes had just _hugged_ him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello all my lovely readers :) I'm back with another chapter, which I hope you'll enjoy! As always, a HUGE yhank you to my new followers/favouriters: hus2007, Aleta123, Ragnarokker AnotherFanFic, lauraiscumberbatched and girlwhichhopestobecomesth, you make me so happy!**

**Comments/reviews are always appriciated! Lots of love to you all, and thank you for reading :)**

Chapter 9

John woke up the next day, to find the flat empty. He'd expected as much, as he knew that Sherlock would still be working with Lestrade on the case and all the extra post-case work like statements and such. John thought about the hug last night, and contemplated the softer side of Sherlock that he so rarely showed anyone else. He chuckled a bit as he pictured Sherlock's facial-expression if he knew that John called him soft. At that moment his alarm went off, and he crawled out of bed towards the bathroom, to try and remove the sleep from his eyes with a shower, and get ready for work.

John was in a really good mood when he got home. One of the surgeons at the hospital was ill, and John had to step in. He hadn't operated in years and, inappropriate as it was, John found it immensely fun and satisfying. It was a lot of different from his usual days which mostly consisted in headaches, colds and, if it was a lucky day, maybe a sprained ankle. He stepped into the flat, humming a song he'd heard some time during the day. He even managed to ignore the fluttering in his stomach he got when he saw Sherlock, and just greeted him cheerfully as he started to prepare dinner for them.

"You seem to be in a good mood John" Sherlock said, sounding both amused and a bit surprised.

"I got to go into surgery today, and I haven't done that in years. It was fun actually; it's what I'm actually trained to do." John replied as he took out pots and pans from the cupboard.

"Ah I see. If I had known you got such satisfaction just by cutting in people, Maybe I should have put you up as a suspect on a few cases" Sherlock joked.

"Oh right, how did it go today? Is the case closed?"

"They picked her in about half an hour after I called them; she was practically waiting for it. She hadn't even struggled or tried to deny any of the crimes. And today at the hearing she answered all the questions truthfully. Now it's just the trial left, but it's pretty obvious how that is going to turn out. She really managed to turn an interesting case into the most boring after-work. Dull." Sherlock said, clearly annoyed at the lack of denial or anything that could have made it more fun, in his opinion. John just smiled to himself, and continued with the food.

They ate in a comfortable silence, John did the dishes and then he sat himself down with a nice cup of tea and a book. Sherlock was sitting opposite, looking at some experiment through his microscope. It was quiet, and peaceful. John should have known it was too good to last.

"How long are you going to ignore the fact that you are in love with me, John?" Sherlock suddenly asked, as calmly as if he had been talking about the weather.

John choked on his tea, but when he finally got his voice back, he couldn't think of anything to say. He felt completely cold inside. It felt like his entire world had crumbled around him, and all he could hear was a voice inside his head screaming _"HE KNOWS. SHERLOCK KNOWS. IT'S ALL RUINED. RUINED. RUINED..."_

"I'm not…I don't…" John started, but Sherlock cut him off.

"Please don't insult me but trying to lie about such an obvious thing. Do you want me to list all the data I have collected to come up with this conclusion? It's quite an extensive collection."

"No, please don't! God no…" John suddenly understood that it was pointless to keep pretending, and decided that honesty would probably be the best in this case, even though it would cost him his best friend. "I'm sorry Sherlock, I never meant for it to happen, it just…did."

"Why are you apologizing John?"

"Because I know that you have a bit of trouble when it comes to feelings, and I would never dream about pushing anything on you... Listen, I know that you are married to your work and all that, and I'm not asking anything of you."

"John, I…" Sherlock started, but John kept talking, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep the tears out of his voice for much longer.

"It's probably for the best that I move out now, temporary at least. I know what you want Sherlock, and this is not one of those things." John's voice cracked at the end, and without looking at Sherlock he went to his bedroom, pulling out a bag from the closet and started to load it with random clothes. It felt like he was going to break in two. He was angry with himself for not being able to keep his feelings hidden. He had brought this entirely upon himself, but it didn't stop the aching inside as he thought about leaving this, leaving Sherlock. What if they never worked this out, what would he do with his life then? He stopped packing for a moment; his hands were shaking too much. He sensed Sherlock's presence at the door, but he couldn't bare himself to turn around and look at him. The silence was almost deafening, but it was Sherlock who broke it.

"You don't" He just said simply. John had no idea what he meant, and with an internal scream, he turned around so he faced Sherlock. The man looked pale in the evening light, but his eyes were filled with certainty.

"I don't what?" John's voice was barely more than a whisper. It was as if talking out loud would somehow make it worse. He felt like everything had drained out of him the moment he found out that Sherlock knew, and now he just stood there, nothing but an empty shell of the man he was just an hour ago. Sherlock spoke again, and this time with a bit more security.

"You don't know what I want John. Not anymore"

And before John had any time to react to those words, Sherlock quickly closed the distance between them, before he leaned in and kissed him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello again! Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews I have recieved, it makes me so happy! My deepest gratitude to my new followers/favouriters: PoisonedRemedy, coleys17 and MasterSerina83! **

**If you have any suggestions or anything in particular you want from this story, feel free to tell me! Comments/reviews are always appreciated! Again, thank you for reading! Stay fantastic people :)**

Chapter 10

John had to muster all his mental strength to be able to break the kiss and gently push Sherlock away. His insides were on fire, but it wasn't unpleasant at all. He wanted nothing more than to feel those soft lips against his own again, but he knew he couldn't.

"Why did you do that Sherlock? I don't want your pity, you know. And if you're just trying to make some weird joke or something, it bloody well worked, but it wasn't funny." John's voice was shaky, and he kept his eyes glued to the floor.

"It's not pity John. I was rather hoping that you would know that I would never do anything like that to you." Sherlock sounded a bit hesitant, but his voice was steady. "Please look at me John" It was the rare use of the word 'Please' that made John look up, after taking a deep breath.

"I haven't forgotten that night…when I came back." Sherlock said in a low voice, looking deep into John's eyes. "I have thought about it ever since, trying to understand. You know that I have been a bit confused lately, and I still don't understand it all. But my thoughts are all dedicated to you in some way, and I can barely concentrate on cases anymore. I didn't fully understand it until you said that you would leave me. You know how feelings are not my strong side John, but I think I have figured out what this is." He made a small pause, as if not really knowing how to proceed, and his next words were more or less a whisper. "I want to….be with you. In the same way that you want. "

John stood there, hearing the words, but not believing them. He had imagined this far too many times, and he was afraid that he might wake up at any moment now. It couldn't be real, it just couldn't. But when neither the room, nor the man in front of him dissolved into smoke or stardust or anything within the next minute, he slowly started to realize reality. He wasn't actually dreaming, it was really happening. But still cautious, he felt the need to reassure himself.

"Are you aware of what you're actually saying Sherlock? What you somehow are agreeing to? Are you sure that we want the same things?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, a motion that really didn't suit the moment. "Yes John, I am very certain that we now want the same things. And I don't really think that you can 'agree' to something that you don't have any objections against. I would appreciate it if you stopped asking stupid questions and, if you do not object, I would very much like to kiss you again."

John's heart felt like it was twice its size. He couldn't believe his own happiness. And before he could respond to Sherlock's rambling, he had those _amazing_ lips on his own again. This time he stopped thinking, and concentrated on how it felt. His arms moved almost automatically, and he wrapped them around Sherlock, pulling him closer. No matter how many beautiful things there was in the world, it could not compare to this. Everything that mattered in this moment was the contact between them, and the energy that seemed to flood around the room. After what felt like an eternity, but far too short, they slowly broke apart. Sherlock rested his forehead against John's and they just stood there, in silence for a while. Sherlock was once again the one who broke it. "I think you should unpack that bag now. And please don't pick it out again. Ever."

That was enough. They didn't have to say anything more than that, because those few words meant so much more. Coming from Sherlock, that was a great deal of sentiment. John stuffed the bag back in his closet, and then he just stood in the middle of the room, not quite sure what to do. It all felt too surreal.

"John, you have to go to bed, you have work tomorrow. I'll still be here, even though you go brush your teeth."

John blushed, hating that he gave away his feelings so easily. "I know…it's just…I can't really believe it, that's all." He said, smiling a bit, but taking Sherlock's advice he went to the bathroom, getting ready for bed. Sherlock was still in his room when he returned, and John awkwardly crawled into bed. He didn't really want to go to sleep, afraid that it would all be gone by the time he woke up the next morning. Once again, Sherlock seemed to read his mind, because he settled himself down, lying beside John. He had somehow managed to change into his night-clothes when John was in the bathroom, and now he made himself comfortable in John's bed. "What are you doing Sherlock?" He asked surprised.

"We are both going to sleep, and I know that you are afraid that I might not be here when you wake up, so I figured I might as well sleep in here and save you the trouble of being anxious. Besides, it's cold tonight so we will probably sleep better together anyway." John didn't mind the slightest, just smiled to himself, looking into Sherlock's eyes, still a bit disbelieving. Sensing it, Sherlock leaned in, giving John a light kiss. And when John had turned out the light, Sherlock whispered

"Go to sleep John, I'll still be here tomorrow. I'll always be here for you."


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello lovely people! I'm sorry for this late update, but I've been really busy these last days. As always, one big fat THANK YOU to everyone who is reading this, and especially my new followers/favouriters: fayejames42, wolfairer and wuvesa! :)**

**The beautiful coverphoto for this story comes from: post/73969292442 , and can also be seen as an artwork for chapter 6!**

**To Wuthering Wilde: One sentence in this chapter is dedicated to you, I hope you'll find it! ;) **

**Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this little chapter! Comments/reviews are, as always, very appreciated! **

Chapter 11

John woke up to an empty bed, and he immediately got a clench of unease in his stomach. Had it all just been a dream? Was everything that happened last night just a conjuring of his mind? Dreading what he'd find out, he stepped out into the living-room.

Sherlock was on the sofa, smiling widely as he saw John. He raised himself, and deleted all of John's doubt with a soft kiss. "Reality then" John thought, and he couldn't wipe the big smile of his face as he went to put some tea on, and it stayed there all morning.

He was surprised however, when Sherlock started to put his coat on at the same time as John was getting ready to leave for work. "What are you doing?" He asked.

"I am going down to the Yard, Lestrade wants me for something, and I was thinking I might as well accompany you to work." Sherlock said, as if was the most natural thing in the world. John was still surprised though, as Sherlock normally hated to walk when he could take a cab, but he wasn't going to argue, he had still not woken up completely.

They walked in silence, though a rather comfortable one. John was thinking about a million of things at once, but mostly at the man next to him who was now his…._boyfriend? _No, it felt way too early to put a name on whatever this was. Lost in his trail of thoughts, he jumped when a cold hand suddenly grasped his own. "Sherlock, what are you doing?" John asked startled, looking around them to see if anyone had noticed they were now holding hands.

"I'm holding your hand John. Isn't that what people do?" Sherlock sounded innocent.

"Well…yeah I guess. I just didn't thought you'd want everyone to know about this. People might talk" John replied, a bit hesitant.

Sherlock stopped and put a hand on either side of John's face. "Oh John," he said quietly "People do little else" John smiled a bit at the familiar sentence. "But since when do I care what people think?" Sherlock kissed him, slow and tenderly, and John relaxed.

"I don't care what the others say, when I've found a new game to play." He said, looking straight into John's eyes, making his heart race. "I was talking about you." Sherlock added after a while, afraid that John might think he was referring to a case. But John smiled and just said "I know, Sherlock."

They continued to walk hand in hand to the hospital, and John very reluctantly let go of Sherlock. But he felt lighter than he'd ever done as he stepped inside, mentally preparing to deal with snotty children and over-protective parents.

As he came home that night he ran into Mycroft at the stairs. "Oh good evening Dr. Watson." He said formally. "Mycroft" John said, nodding in a greeting gesture.

"I have just been talking to my dear brother." Mycroft said, as though there would be any other reason for him to be there. John, who always felt a little on edge whenever he met Sherlock's brother just nodded again, hoping Mycroft would get the hint that he wasn't really in the mood for talking. John started to climb the stairs again, when Mycroft spoke. "I am aware that I might not have the right to do this, but I nonetheless feel obligated to warn you, John." John turned and looked at him, questioning. Mycroft continued "I know that you are very fond of my brother, and I am informed that you are no longer just partners in crime." He smiled a bit at his own joke, but John remained neutral, dreading the words that he suspected would come next.

"Sherlock is very dependent on you as well, and I have never seen him more alive than since he met you. If you, however, hurt my brother in any way, I will personally make sure that London is one Doctor short." He proclaimed this obvious threat in an easy voice, as though they had discussed the weather. John just stared at him, not knowing what to say, but he was interrupted by a voice from upstairs. "Mycroft, I swear to God, if you don't shut up and leave John alone I will out you to Mummy at our next Christmas dinner." Sherlock shouted. Mycroft seemed to take him by his words, and with a small nod in John's direction he descended the stairs quickly, and John wasn't sure whether or not he heard Sherlock's sarcastic"Give my love to Lestrade, dear brother. I am quite sure he is just writhing to meet you."

John shook his head, still disbelieving of the "protective-big-brother-speech-thing" Mycroft had just thrown at him. He stepped inside the flat, and immediately had a curly-haired detective on his lips. He found himself pushed against the wall, and he did absolutely nothing to stop it.


	12. Chapter 12

**This chapter did not turn out the way I thought it would, but I guess this is okay too. I just want to say thank you to everyone who is reading this, and thank you for every review, follow, favourite and PM, it means more than you can imagine! **

**Comments/reviews are as always much appriciated! Please tell me if there is something in particular you'd want to happen!**

**Stay fantastic my dear fellows :)**

Chapter 12

Their little snogging session was the first of many during the following week. John found himself pushed against a lot of different walls at usually highly inappropriate places. (He still blushed at the thought of how Sherlock had been all over him in a corner of the Royal Library, until the stern librarian had discovered their not-so-discreet hiding-place and kicked them out, heads first.) It wasn't like John minded, on the contrary he enjoyed it quite fully, but he was still surprised at the sudden affection from a man he thought to be asexual not so long ago. He wanted to ask about it, but didn't know how, without making it sound wrong or accusing in any way. But he decided at last to bring it up.

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon. Sherlock was lying with his head in John's lap, trying to engage in a terrible soap-opera, but failing miserably. Suddenly the words were just out of John's mouth "How come you seem so very keen on ravaging my lips at every opportunity Sherlock? You haven't seemed to like any kind of human-contact before…" He stopped talking, when he noticed how wrong it all sounded. Sherlock however, seemed to take the question seriously, and he considered it for a while before he answered.

"I think it's like a tap John…once you opened it, everything just flows out, and it's hard to stop the flow." He said slowly, as if he too, considered the matter for the first time. "I have never allowed myself feelings of this kind before, since it makes you vulnerable, but now that I let myself feel for the first time, I never want to stop. It's like I can never get enough. I didn't like the feeling at all at first, but now I quite enjoy it. It's like you're my drug." John found that explanation quite good, apart from the drug-reference, and he kissed Sherlock on the forehead.

"Thank you" He said, knowing that Sherlock would understand. Then he chuckled a bit and added "But considering how all of this started, it should be me who was all over you." Sherlock smiled smugly, and said in a low voice "Why aren't you then, John? It's not like I would mind." The words shot straight into John, and it led to another kissing session on the sofa, which only stopped when Sherlock's phone rang.

"Ugh, Lestrade sure knows how to pick his moments" Sherlock grunted, but he answered the phone, still breathing a bit heavy. It took less than two minutes before he sprang to his feet, gesturing towards John to follow him, and five minutes later they were both seated in a cab heading towards wherever Lestrade were. John didn't know anything about the case yet, and to be honest, he'd much rather spent the entire day on the sofa. But seeing the fire in Sherlock's eyes as he got whenever there was a case, well, it was worth it all.

They were at the outskirt of London, before the cab slowed down and stopped outside an idyllic-looking house, that made John think about an old fairytale he'd heard as a child. The house was small, with an iron-gate leading into a beautiful garden. Everything looked neat and tidy, and the whole atmosphere had been almost magical, had it not been for the crowd of policemen and the tape that cordoned off the surrounding area. Lestrade met them at the gate, looking tired but glad to see them. "Thank you for coming. I'm sorry to disturb you on the weekend like this." He said apologetic.

"It's fine Greg, we weren't doing anything in particular." John said, ignoring the look Sherlock gave him at those words. "But you are quite welcome to tell us why we're here."

"Yes of course… But I think you should see it all first, it's hard to believe if you haven't witnessed it yourself." John didn't really want to think about what those words meant, but they followed Lestrade up the small stone-steps and into the house.

It wasn't hard to see what Lestrade meant. On the sofa in the living-room there were two adults and a small child, all sitting still and with their eyes open, staring blankly at the TV. Too still. John got a shock once he realized they were actually dead. If he'd give it a thought, he should probably have known it from the start, but they still looked so alive. It was like he and Sherlock, together with all the policemen, had invaded a perfectly cozy family night by the TV, and John got really creeped out about the whole scene. He seemed to have turned softer lately, he thought a bit annoyed, but still, this was not normal. Taking a deep breath, he started to examine the bodies, since Lestrade told them they had absolutely no idea what killed the poor family.

After a while, he straightened up, and disappointed in himself, he said "I'm really sorry Greg, but I can't find anything. There is obviously no sign of struggling or violence, no bruises on the neck, nothing they could have choked on. And besides, if they had been choked to death, you would have seen it on their eyes, but it's nothing. It looks like they have just…died." John cringed when he heard himself, he sounded idiotic. What kind of doctor is he if he can't even find the cause of death? It's probably obvious, and he waited for Sherlock to point it out to everyone, but he doesn't. In fact, the detective just stood there, watching John, and seems to take no notice of the scene in front of him. John opened his mouth to say something, but Lestrade gets first. "Sherlock, please tell me you have something…anything that we can go on." His voice pleading.

"Obviously. Look for the son." Sherlock said simply, as he turned his gaze towards Lestrade instead.

"Son…? There is no son? They only had one child, Sherlock."

"I beg to differ." Sherlock continued, in a rather bored voice. "It's obvious, isn't it?" He looked around the room, waiting for someone to exclaim whatever it is he finds to be so clear. "Oh right… I almost forgot that you had average brains. You should take that as a compliment, by the way." He added the last part with a smile, but no one seemed to think it was a rather good compliment, and sensing the tension in the room, Sherlock sighed and began to explain.


	13. Chapter 13

**Well this was a bit of a challenge to write, and I'm not quite sure how I managed... But please read and comment/review, so I can get to know what you guys think. It's what I live off, after all!**

**A big thank you to my latest follower: Shadow835, and generally to everyone who reads this story. You are all gold to me! :)**

Chapter 13

"Look at them" He gestured towards the family of three, no longer alive. "It was obviously a planned murder, since we can't even see how they died. Had it been a murder-robbery, it would have shown on the bodies, since it would probably have been an impulsive murder. But there are no things missing as far as I can tell which completely precludes that possibility. The father is a journalist, which one might think could make him a target considering that he recently revealed a political scandal. This is not the case however, if he were the target they would have killed him separately, on his way to work perhaps. So we can rule out that one too." Sherlock took a deep breath before he continued, and John could see how much he loved this, showing off.

"This was a well-planned murder, and he meant to kill his entire family. _He_, yes since it is both statistically more likely to be a man and _his_ because it's obviously the son.

_Son?_ Yes they have a son too. Look at the painting on the wall. It's clearly made by a child of about eight years, the date is fourteen years ago and it's signed 'Kevin' so it's clearly not their little girl here. A brother to any of the parents? No, too young, so it's a son then. Why don't they have any photos of him? Because they are ashamed of him in some way and/or mad at him. Possibly because he didn't choose the life-path his parents wanted for him, so they shut him out of the family. Hurt, angry and jealous, he decided to take his revenge. He is however way too squeamish to do it in a way that would cause them too much pain or blood loss. So he chooses to poison them, since that would be the easiest way. I believe that we are dealing with a rather depressed man, so I would advise you to find him as soon as possible, before his guilt catch up with him and he makes a rash decision."

Sherlock stopped and looked around the room, and John couldn't keep quiet. His "Brilliant Sherlock" echoed in the otherwise silent room. Sherlock smiled genuinely towards him, and John had to suppress the urge to go and kiss him.

"Oh, and if I'm not entirely mistaken, and I'm usually not, you'll find traces of '_mortem vivit_', which is a very rare poison extracted from Greek daffodils, in their bodies and their tea. The son is probably a florist or somehow working with flowers to be able to get that poison. Try 'L'orangerie' down at Park Lane, they could probably give you a few clues. Now I think I have done my job, and it would be a shame if I didn't let you do any of the work, after all it is you who call yourselves Scotland Yard. Come on John, let's go." And with a small nod in Lestrade's direction, Sherlock headed for the door, not bothering to see if John came along or not.

"I'm sorry about that Greg" John said apologetically. "I hope you got something out of it at least. See you around!"

"It's okay John, we all know what he's like, don't we?" Lestrade said with a tired smile. "I definitely think we did, he is never wrong after all. Don't keep him waiting now, I'll be in touch." John smiled, and walked out of the house and into the cab that Sherlock somehow had gotten in less than two minutes. Sherlock smiled at him when he got into the car, and their hands automatically entwined when the car took off.

"You really are a bloody genius Sherlock" John said "but _god_ you can be sassy. You should probably be a bit more humble about all this. It's Lestrade that pays most of our rent after all. Maybe you shouldn't show off quite as much?"

"I'm a show-off John. It's what we do." Sherlock said innocently. John just sighed again. Sherlock could be tough to handle at times, but god it was worth it.

Lestrade called the next day to anounce that Sherlock had been right, about everything. He almost sounded reluctant to admit it, or maybe John just imagined it. They had at least stopped the son, Kevin, from killing himself. They had found him as he was just about to take the same poison as he gave his family, but he hadn't put up any kind of fight. He had broken down completely, and he was currently being treated in a mental hospital, where he would most likely stay for a long time. Lestrade sent his greetings and gratitude to Sherlock, but John still heard the little mumble "Lord knows he doesn't need to boost his ego…" before the little click in the phone told him that Lestrade had hung up. He chuckled at that, before he turned to Sherlock and told him everything he'd heard from Lestrade.

Sherlock just smirked and it seemed like he was badly trying to cover his pride. John knew better though, he knew that Sherlock was enjoying the fact that he had been right about everything. He still wondered about a thing though. "How did you know where the son worked?" He asked, since Sherlock had never explained that part.

"Park Lane was the only flower-shop I knew that kept these Greek daffodils, so I deduced that it must be the one." Sherlock answered, a bit absent-minded.

But John wasn't satisfied "Now hold on a minute, how could you possible know that? It could have been like ten other flower-shops!" And when it hit him, he couldn't help but gloat a little. "You guessed Sherlock, didn't you?"

"I never guess John."

"Yes you do." John was still smiling. "But that's okay, I won't tell anyone." Sherlock chuckled. They sat in silence for a while, until Sherlock suddenly jumped up from his chair and loudly proclaimed

"John, I'm bored."


	14. Chapter 14

**Hello my dear lovelies! A new chapter coming right up. Thank you to the latest follower of this story, tyler. blake. 12 :D And generally, a giant hug to everyone who reads this. I can never thank you enough. I've said it before and I'll say it again, if there is anything in particular you want out of this story, please tell me!**

** Reviews/comments are more than welcome! Love and cookies to you all! :)**

Chapter 14

John watched Sherlock disbelievingly. "You JUST solved a case Sherlock. How can you possibly be bored?"

"That was yesterday John. I haven't done anything productive today. All my experiments are on hold, and there is no case. Entertain me John."

John sighed again, not for the first time thinking of how much Sherlock resembled a child. Then he got an idea. "Okay then, get dressed. We're going out."

"Great! Where are we going?"

"To a club. And not a bloody elite-club this time. We're going to do what normal people do to have fun. Wear something nice." John suddenly became very excited about his idea. It would be fun to see Sherlock out on a real club, drinking and dancing. He would be sure that Sherlock would protest, but the detective just went straight into his bedroom to change his outfit. Surprised, John followed his lead, and ten minutes later they were both ready.

John eyed Sherlock almost hungrily. The man had certainly taken John by his words. He looked amazing in his dark-blue shirt and black pants. He smiled at John, who went straight up and kissed him. He would never get over the sensation of Sherlock's lips against his own, and it was with a wide smile they made their way to the club that John had in mind.

Sherlock, who usually didn't drink at all, seemed to have decided that this night was an exception. He gladly accepted every drink that John handed him, and he certainly didn't seem bored. He laughed and smiled more than John had seen in a long time, and his affection for the other man just grew stronger. He was so beautiful when he smiled, that John wished he could etch the picture into his memory forever. Sherlock did most of the talking, and John just sat there, watching him, and allowing himself to revel in his own happiness. He couldn't believe how his life had changed in such a short while. He laughed when Sherlock started to deduce embarrassing stuff about the surrounding people, and he found it hard to resist snogging him right there.

But, as it was a very rare occasion, Sherlock didn't need a lot to get tipsy, and pretty soon he was way more than that. John certainly hadn't anticipated this kind of a reaction to a drunken Sherlock, but it seemed like just a few drinks were enough to get the detective to dance on the tables. Literally.

As the evening proceeded, John had had to drag him away on several occasions, when it looked like he was about to deduce himself into a bar-fight with men who looked like they could snap his neck with their fingers. Most recently, Sherlock had proclaimed to a large guy that his wife was cheating on him with his brother, and John had taken a hold of Sherlock's arms and quickly retreated out of sight while Sherlock snapped his fingers at the guy in a very bitch-like manner. John sighed and decided that enough was enough. But Sherlock seemed to think otherwise.

When "Bohemian Rhapsody" started playing, Sherlock once again took his place upon a table and started to sing along. And _god,_ his voice was beautiful. It sent shivers down John's spine and he found himself almost enchanted. And when Sherlock started to sing along to the guitars, John couldn't help but laugh at the whole situation. Sherlock, who never drank, never made a fool of himself (at least not like this), who always wore those damn suits, now stood on top of a bar-table, completely plastered, scream-singing to a Queen-song. He certainly was a man full of surprises.

When the detective eventually retreated from the table, John took him by the shoulders and said softly "Sherlock, I think that it might be enough now. Let's go home and sleep now, shall we?"

But Sherlock pouted and looked extremely like a five-year old. "But Joooohn" He dragged out the name, making it sound even more childish "I want to stay John. Just one more song, please?" And when he looked at John with his large puppy-eyes, John couldn't resist him. "Okay fine, ONE song Sherlock. But that's it." Sherlock smiled at John, or at least in John's direction, since his eyes seemed to have a hard time to focus on something for longer than a second. Then he grabbed John and dragged him out on the dance-floor. And _damn_, the man could dance. Even when drunk, Sherlock seemed perfectly coordinated and his every move was gracious and elegant. John started to wonder if there was anything Sherlock couldn't do, when said man leaned in and whispered in John's ear "We can go home now John."

"Okay thank you Sherlock. You probably need to sleep this off if you're going to function properly tomorrow."

But Sherlock raised his eyebrows at John, and still in a whisper he said "Oh John, sleep was not at all what I had in mind." Great. A drunk and seductive Sherlock, just what he needed.

John sighed, but he couldn't shake the mental images produced by Sherlock's word. Not being able to talk anymore, he just nodded and they made their way out of the crowd and onto the street, heading home. Sherlock kept stealing kisses from John, which made it difficult to walk, and it took twice as long for them to get home. When they finally arrived at Baker Street, they had barely made it into the flat before they were all over each other, and John couldn't help but think that his idea had turned into a very successful night.


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello again! I'm sorry for the long wait again, but i've had a major writer's block these past days, and not much time! Anyway, thank you to my latest followers/favouriters: DestielIsMyLife, AussieTayla and alittlebitlonger95, you guys make me smile for ages :D**

**This chapter is dedicated to creamtea-with-a-madman who requested some Johnlock smoochy-time, so here *throws it at you* And please ignore the last part...I just had to go and destroy it all, because that's who I am. I'm terribly sorry. Well, here it is anyway...**

Chapter 15

They took it a lot further this time, than any time before. They had both ended up with their shirts on the floor, before the still somewhat sober part of John's brain kicked in. He gently broke loose from Sherlock, which wasn't the easiest thing to do. When Sherlock set his mind on something, he usually ended up having it, and right now it was John who was the prize. He groaned in frustration as John sat up in the bed, but John was firm and determined. It wasn't like he was objecting the slightest of what they were doing, but he wanted them both to be sober before they went any further. Nothing was going to destroy this, their relationship. He wanted everything to be perfect, and he definitely wanted them to remember it. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes when John explained this, but he understood. John got Sherlock a big glass of water and told him to drink up unless he wanted to wake up with a terrible hangover, before they settled for the night. Sherlock did as he said, and it didn't take long before he was fast asleep, curling into John. John put his arms around the sleeping detective, and he fell asleep with a smile.

He woke up to fingers drawing random patterns at his chest and he opened his eyes, only to find himself staring into Sherlock's. He smiled the most dazzling smile at John, and kissed him a soft good-morning. John leaned into the kiss, and sighed when they broke apart. "Good morning sunshine" he said, while curling his fingers into Sherlock's hair. John felt like the happiest person in the world. Only weeks ago was he still unknowing of his feelings for Sherlock, and now they were here. He still remembered the agony in between, but it was worth it. Every pain in the world would be worth this. They lay there, gazing affectingly into each other's eyes, and exchanging kisses now and then. They had all the time in the world, since John didn't had to go into work, and there was no case to distract Sherlock.

It was well past noon, when John suddenly felt how hungry he was. They hadn't eaten since last night, and the rumbling from his stomach made it clear that it was time to eat. "Come on" he said to Sherlock who was sprawled across the bed "I'll make breakfast….or something."

John found some eggs in the fridge, and managed to cook them a decent meal. The whole atmosphere had changed around them. It was light, and easy. John didn't hesitate to draw his fingers through Sherlock's hair, or hold his hand. It was still very new and unfamiliar, but it was like the previous night and their morning had made them a real couple. They proceeded their day by lying in the sofa, Sherlock with his head in John's lap, and watching some re-runs of Midsummer Murders. Sherlock managed to deduce the killer within five minutes every time, which made John annoyed. But it was still very cozy just to be there together, with nothing to disturb them. They interrupted some of the episodes with some heavy snogging sessions, but it was no more than that. Neither of them was ready to take the next step, and they still learned each other, explored each other.

They ordered take-out a couple of hours later, and they discussed cases, John's blog, Mycroft and Lestrade's relationship and which books they had both read. That subject didn't take long though, since Sherlock had mostly read books about tobacco-ash, formaldehyde, the extent of color pigments in human hair and that sort of stuff. John on the other hand, had read more of the classic novels and stuff "you were supposed to have read" as he said. But Sherlock merely huffed at this, in an I'm-too-busy-to-read-books-that-everyone-else-reads sort of way. John gave up soon after that.

When Sherlock went into the shower, John lay on the sofa with a big smile on his face. He contemplated yet again how his life had become so amazing, in such a short while. They had really been a couple today, and John couldn't wait until he could show the entire world that Sherlock was his. They had decided not to say anything for a while, but John didn't want to wait anymore. He wanted to scream it out from the roof-tops that he, John Watson, was together with Sherlock Holmes. He laughed at the mental image of him, actually screaming from a roof-top. He got interrupted in his thoughts by a shrill beeping from Sherlock's phone. "You can check if it's Lestrade or Mycroft, but I'd rather not talk to any of them" Sherlock's voice came from the bathroom. Jeez, that man had sharp ears, John though as he picked up the phone, to read the text. What he saw on the screen made his heart stop and his blood freeze. He felt as though his heart was broken in two, and the entire world came tumbling down on him.

On the screen, in too bright letters were the following words mocking John and his happiness.

"_Hello sexy!_

_When can we see each other again? I miss you._

_XX Ryan"_


	16. Chapter 16

**Hello beautiful people! I really, really want to thank everyone who is reading this story. 40 followers and 17 favouriters, it's so much more than I could have ever imagined, so thank you for that! **

**The story turned a bit angsty from here, sorry about that. But well, we'll just see what happens... Stay fantastic people :)**

Chapter 16

Sherlock came out from the bathroom in his blue dressing gown and his hair still dripping wet. He smiled at John, but it faded quickly as he saw John's expression.

"John? John what's the matter?"

John didn't trust his voice to bear so instead he just held out the phone to Sherlock, showing the words that had destroyed him so completely. Sherlock's eyes widened in shock, and then even more when understanding dawned upon him. He looked even more like a puppy, with those eyes and his hair still wet. "No John, no no no. This is not at all what you think!" He sounded panicky.

"Then please explain to me what this is Sherlock. And tell me the truth." John said in a low voice, still not looking at Sherlock. He fought hard to keep the tears out of his voice, but he barely managed. Sherlock hesitated, seemed to look for the right words to say. Eventually he said "It was for a case. I needed some valuable information which he provided."

"In exchange for what?" John demanded.

Sherlock bit his lip, clearly uncomfortable with all these emotions. "Remember I told you I can be very convincing? That you can get anyone almost anywhere, if you only know what to offer? Well, I knew what to offer." Sherlock spoke with cautiousness, as if he waited for John to break if he said the wrong word. But John was already broken. He was not as stupid as Sherlock seemed to think. He understood that it had been more than just an offer. If the guy had valuable information, he wouldn't trade it just for a promise about more. He would have wanted proof in some way. And it was just that, the proof. What had Sherlock done to get whatever information he required? John's whole inside was burning with the need to know, but when he opened his mouth it wasn't the question that came out. Instead he said "When was this?"

"About two weeks ago"

John did a quick count in his head. He and Sherlock had been together for almost three weeks. That meant… Suddenly the tears weren't a problem anymore. The hurt feelings gave way for a stronger feeling, anger. It was an anger he never felt before, and he let it sink in before he spoke. "You did this, while you were with me? While we were together?" His voice was shaky, but it was now because of the effort to stop himself from screaming. "You cheated on me for information?"

"I wasn't cheating, I was just…working."

John let out a humorless laugh. "Oh so you were working? I see. So you can just go around and sleep with whoever you want as long as it's for your bloody work?" His voice was rising.

"What? No John, I didn't…I would never…" Sherlock sounded pleading now. But still no denial. "I didn't think he would actually want to see me again, that's not why I gave him my number."

"Oh what a bloody surprise! He wanted to meet up for a booty-call! You couldn't deduce that you brilliant bastard?" Even when angry, John apparently couldn't keep out the compliments, and he hated it.

"John, please listen…"

"No you are going to listen to me Sherlock! I gave you all I had; I gave you what no one else has gotten before. I gave you my heart Sherlock, and you managed to break it just like you break everything else. Just like you said you would, and _damn it,_ I should have known better than this!" He knew he had gone too far, but he couldn't stop. The words just flowed out of him, like a waterfall. He stood up, facing Sherlock and panting as though he'd just run a mile. His heart was racing, and his vision was blurry. He realized he was crying, but he didn't even bother to care. Sherlock just stared at him, completely speechless after the words that John had said. He didn't even try to stop John as he pushed past Sherlock, grabbed his coat and slammed the door shut. Sherlock just stood there, the water dripping from his hair on the floor mixing with the silent tears that ran down his cheeks.

John managed to run two blocks away until he broke down. Heavy rain soaked him wet as he sat on the curb. He tried to feel nothing, but in vain. He felt as though he had left his heart behind him, which he, figuratively speaking, had done. He didn't know how long he sat there, but eventually he rose to his feet. He felt lost, in more ways than one. He picked up his phone and texted the only one he could think of.

"_Things are a complete mess. Can I sleep at your place tonight? _

_I'd owe you big time. JW"_

Lestrade answered within ten seconds, and John made his way to the eastern side of London.


	17. Chapter 17

**Hello lovelies :) I'm sorry about the angst, but here is some more for you. I'm really happy that so many people like this story! A big hug to my new followers/favouriters: Old Ping Hai, OwlSky15678, akiraoftrevon, Amalie03mus, DarthVadersPersonalHouseElf and mixed array, thank you so much :) An equally large hug to all my old followers/favouriters as well, you mean so much to me!**

**To the guest who reviewed: Mycroft and Lestrade is actually one of the biggest ships in the Sherlock fandom, so that's why I brought it in. I hope you don't mind too much, and that you might end up liking it. They are actually rather cute together (if I might say so) ;)**

**Comments/reviews are as always, much appriciated. Enjoy! :)**

Chapter 17

John sat in the sofa at Lestrade's flat, an untouched cup of tea in front on him. Three days had passed, and he still hadn't spoken to Sherlock. He hadn't spoken at all come to think of it, other than to call in sick to work. Lestrade hadn't asked any questions, just opened up his home. John felt immensely grateful to the man, but he was currently not in the state to express this. He had barely been home at all, so John had had the flat mostly to himself these last couple of days.

Now, he was sitting across from John however, a worried look on his face. He seemed determined not to break the silence, but as it was starting to get ridiculous to just sit there, he finally put down his tea-cup and cleared his throat. "John look, I know about you and Sherlock."

John's eyes snapped up from the floor. "No. Wha- How ca-? He spluttered out, before realization dawned upon him. "Oh. Mycroft." He stated, and returned his gaze towards a stain in the carpet.

"Yes Mycroft" Lestrade nodded. "I've known almost from the beginning, but I wanted to give you a chance to tell me yourselves when you felt ready." John once again marveled over Lestrade's utter kindness, but didn't know what to reply. But Lestrade kept talking "I also know what happened between you and Sherlock. I have let you stay here, and I don't mind at all, but you have to talk to him John!" John made an effort to speak, but Lestrade held up his hand. "No wait. I know about the text and everything, but I also know what you said to him. It was probably a heat-of-the-moment-thing, but I think you feel guilty about it, and that is why you won't talk to him."

John was silent for a while, processing what Lestrade had said. Yes, he felt immensely guilty for the words he had thrown at Sherlock. He had been so angry, he was still angry, but he hadn't meant it. Not really. But instead of saying this, he said "He cheated on me, Greg."

"No. He didn't"

"What do you mean? You said you knew about the text!" John said annoyed. He definitely didn't want Lestrade to take Sherlock's side in all of this. If there even were sides, he didn't know anymore.

"Yes, but I also know the background story. I wanted Sherlock to tell you, but I don't think he'll mind." Lestrade took a deep breath, and John watched him, against his will he really wanted to know. "Remember the drug-dealer Sherlock hand-cuffed to that toilet a few weeks back?" John nodded. "Well, it turned out he wasn't working alone. This Ryan-fellow turned out to be equally important in the organization. So while we had taken the first guy, Sherlock tried to play them against each other. The information we had received from the hearings, he used to get close to the center of the organization, which was Ryan, the leader. And the information he received from Ryan, we managed to use on the first guy and so on. It's all a big mess, but Sherlock has really helped us these past weeks. He agreed to see Ryan again, and that way we would finally be able to take him. I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier, but I really thought you knew."

But John wasn't satisfied. "I know that he did it for a case, Greg, that is not the problem. The problem is _what_ he did. What kind of proof did he give to be able to arrange a second meeting?" He shuddered at the mental images conjured in his head at those words. "I can't stand that he sleeps with random people just because he needs information or something for his _damn_ work! I have some bloody pride left, and I won't tolerate it!" He tried to sound fierce, but his voice cracked at the end.

Lestrade looked shocked. "Oh my god…is that what you..? Oh no. No no John. Sherlock didn't…he wouldn't do that, ever! Not to himself, but especially not to you. I won't lie, he did kiss him, but that was it. And believe me; he looked absolutely nauseated when he returned to my office. And if I know him right, he has probably beaten himself up for it for two weeks, debating whether or not to tell you. I understand if you're still mad, I really do, but you needed to know the entire story."

John felt like a bucket of ice-water had been dumped over his head. Sherlock hadn't slept with him. He hadn't…oh god. Just a kiss. A kiss, he could live with. He knew what the work meant to Sherlock, and John could sacrifice a kiss, even though it stung. The guilt came creeping through his body. He hadn't even bothered to listen to Sherlock; he had just drawn his own stupid conclusions, and look where they were. Suddenly the anger was swooped out, replaced by guilt, and fear. He had said horrible things to Sherlock, what if he wouldn't forgive him?

"I'm a bloody idiot." He said so loud that Lestrade jumped. But John didn't notice. He didn't want to waste any more time. "Greg I don't…I just….Thank you." John said, and Lestrade smiled, he understood. "It's nothing John, anytime. But get your ass to Baker Street right now before you start to cry on me." John chuckled, but it got stuck in his throat, and he could already feel the burning behind his eyelids. He grabbed his jacket, and ran down the street. He managed to get a cab, and ten minutes later he was running up the stairs to their flat. His heart was racing of nervousness; he had no idea how Sherlock would react. He opened the door and let out a gasp.

It looked like a bomb had exploded in their living room. The furniture was upside down and their glass-table was smashed into pieces. Papers and books were scattered across the floor along with some stains of red. John panicked once he realized it was blood, and he darted through the flat in search for Sherlock, screaming his name, but there was nothing. He found several blood-stains in the bedroom and the kitchen, and the fear hit him like a slap in the face. He wanted to break down and cry, but instead he took a deep breath, and slipped into soldier mode. He called Lestrade who picked up immediately, as if sensing something was wrong. "What has happened?" He said shortly.

"It's Sherlock. He's gone."


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello again! First of all, thank you: Inspyre, benedicks, Okami . Lupus, kiras70 and Wolfsbane Hallow for fallowing/favouriting this story recently! Second of all, well enjoy the chapter, that's all! Any suggestions/opinions on the story, feel free to tell me. **

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Chapter 18

Lestrade and Donovan were trying to locate Sherlock's mobile as John stepped into Lestrade's office, his entire body burning with worry. John had already thought of every place possible for Sherlock to be, so he answered Lestrade's questions almost automatically. Just as Mycroft stepped through the door, Donovan finally got a signal. "It looks like he is somewhere in the port. I think he mentioned it sometime, that they had their headquarters at some place there. Said they wanted to be close to the shipping-boats." She said to the room and no-one in particular. John quickly rose out of his chair and looked at Lestrade, waiting for him to follow.

"You are not coming along John." He said sternly.

"Of course I am."

"I appreciate your help, but you are not a police John. You don't have the expertise or the authority to this sort of mission."

"I was a soldier for god's sake Greg!" John said loudly. "I invaded Afghanistan; I think I'm quite able to come along on a rescue mission." Lestrade opened his mouth to argue, but Mycroft cut him off. He put his hand on Lestrade's shoulder, and said

"Greg, I actually agree with John. And this is Sherlock. He'd want John to come with you."

"Fine" Lestrade snapped. "But if I lose my job because of this, you're bloody well paying for it."

John didn't even bother to listen, and ten minutes later he sat in a police-car going full speed, dressed in a bullet-proof vest and equipped with a gun. He tried to ignore the worry that seared through every vein of his body, and he refused to close his eyes to stop the horrible mental images to get to him. Since they had absolutely no idea what they were to expect once they got there, Lestrade had decided to send in the special-force.

According to the GPS, Sherlock were in a big warehouse, just behind a huge shipping-boat. Or rather, Sherlock's mobile was there, and John could only pray that the owner of it would be there as well. They stopped behind another warehouse, and Lestrade sent in his special-force. John did not approve of this way of dealing with the situation, just sitting in a bloody car and not being able to do a thing besides wait, but he knew it was pointless in arguing. Every second that went by, he was sure that he would get bad news from the radio. After what felt like an eternity, they got the report that the warehouse was empty. They had found Sherlock's mobile on the floor, and there were clear signs that he'd been there. But now it was completely empty.

John felt like he was going to break. He'd clung to this straw of hope, and now that it was gone he was sure that he would crumble into pieces at any minute. He had barely eaten or slept in three days, and now the worrying took his last energy. He felt the soldier-façade cracking at the edges, and his eyes were rapidly filling up. He rushed out of the car, hyperventilating, tears running along his cheeks. He sat down on the ground and put his head between his knees to stop himself from fainting. He felt, rather than heard Lestrade's presence but he neither of them spoke. Lestrade just stood there, waiting for John to get his panic-attack over and get a grip on himself. He didn't mention it with a word, just offered his hand once John could breathe properly again. The ride back into town was silent and tense. Lestrade dropped him off at Baker Street, urging him to sleep and promised that they would do everything they could. Before he drove away, he looked at John and said

"Don't do anything stupid."

John didn't even register the words; he had already slipped from soldier mode into some sort of zombie-wannabe. He really thought that Sherlock would be there. He had absolutely no idea where he was, he felt sick when he looked at the blood-stains still clearly visible against the white walls and the guilt suddenly hit him full force. He hadn't spoken to Sherlock in three days. The last words he had said to him… oh god, it was terrible. He lay down on Sherlock's bed, _their bed_, and he let himself scream Sherlock's name into the pillow.

He woke up a couple of hours later to a loud beeping from his phone. Immediately wide awake, he fumbled with it until he could view the text, and he cursed himself for falling asleep. It was from an unknown number and John didn't know whether to laugh or cry when he read the message.

"_Boxhill Street 7. Please come._

_SH"_

He didn't hesitate for a second longer than necessary. He grabbed his gun and shoved it at the back of his trousers, before sprinting out of the flat, throwing himself into a cab. He didn't even think about calling Lestrade, all he could think was _'Sherlock is alive. He is still alive. I can save him.' _

The cabbie dropped him off at the right address, and eyed him suspiciously before he drove away. John couldn't really blame him though, the street was dodgy and the houses looked like they could've used a restoration about 20 years ago. He quickly crossed the street and tried to examine number 7 from a couple of bushes. A shadow at the window in the door indicated that someone was guarding it, so John quickly ruled out the front-door as an option for his attempted break-in. He crept, hidden behind the bushes, into the backyard. What had once been a garden were now an almost forest, which John found very useful at the moment. He stayed down, counted the windows and tried to deduce how many people that was in the house. He managed to make out three different shadows at the bottom-floor, and if he weren't completely mistaken, the second-floor was empty. He had no idea where Sherlock would be, but he figured he would deal with that problem once he was actually inside the house. Luckily, there was a tree growing just beside one of the second-floor windows and John climbed it without difficulty and as quiet as he could, he shoved the window open and leaped inside.

John suddenly realized he'd just broken into a house which most likely was the head-quarters of one of London's largest drug-cartels, he had no idea where Sherlock were, and he hadn't even called the police. He was probably out of his mind, but then again, so were Sherlock, and right now he was the only thing on John's mind.

As silently as he could, John crept out of the bedroom from which window he'd just entered. He had the gun raised, and he listened intently at any noise that would indicate a human being in his near presence. He stood in a hallway, and there were three other doors apart the one he'd just exited. One of them lead to a bathroom; one of them seemed to be some sort of walk-in-closet. The third and last remaining door were closed and bolted with a chair underneath the door-handle. John tip-toed across the hallway and, abandoning all his cautiousness, he moved the chair and flung the door open. Relief flooded through his body, but it quickly stopped as John threw himself forward.

Sherlock was lying on a rusty bed; his clothes ripped and messed with blood. He had a large gash across his forehead, just above his left eye, and there were several cuts over his arms and chest. His ribs were clearly visible as though he hadn't eaten in days, 'which he probably hasn't', John thought and he tried to push away the guilt that came second. He reached out his hand and touched Sherlock's cheek.

"Sherlock? It's me." he whispered. No response. "Sherlock?" He brought his fingers down to Sherlock's neck and searched hysterically, but there was nothing.

Sherlock had no pulse.


	19. Chapter 19

**I don't usually update this close to another chapter, but It was already written, so what the hell. See it as a gift! :) **

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**Anyway, time for John to be a tiny bit badass. You're welcome! ;)**

Chapter 19

Panic seared through John. Sherlock had no pulse. _Sherlock had no pulse._

His doctor-mode once again became his natural state, and without thinking he started CPR. He somehow managed to keep his motions controlled and ignore the screaming in his head. After exactly three minutes, John finally felt a weak, but steady pulse beat under his fingers. He had barely time to breathe out, before he heard footsteps on the stairs. _Shit._ He very reluctantly let go of Sherlock, and threw himself behind the door. Of course, the door had been closed and bolted, so whoever came up the stairs would know someone had broken in. He held his breath, gun ready when the person finally came up to the second floor. John heard a male voice whisper "What the…someone's here." and he didn't hesitate for a second as the man entered the room.

John threw himself forward and managed to knock the back of his gun into the man's temple, quite an achievement considering he was almost twice as tall as John. The man stumbled and fell, but John managed to catch him before he hit the floor, which would have made an awful lot of noise. He straightened up and turned around, and immediately got hit in the face. The punch was unexpected, and John stumbled backwards and hit the wall with a heavy thud. The man in front of him smiled a vicious smile, pointed a gun at him and said simply

"You're John Watson."

John didn't answer him, just glared as hard as he could. He had dropped his gun and it lay just in front of the bed, too far for him to reach.

"Are you here to save your pathetic little boyfriend?" The man went on, enjoying the reaction from John who almost snarled. "You know, he can be quite the slut if he wants to. Practically begs for it. Just a little fix up his arm and I could've had him any way I wanted to."

John noticed the sentence and the fact that he had said _"could've had"_ instead of just _"had"_, which meant that Sherlock were still untouched. Well, in that context anyway. He threw a glance at the Sherlock-shaped heap on the bed, and he felt relieved as he saw Sherlock's chest rise and fall. The man kept talking and he raised his gun so that it pointed towards John's head.

"He actually called me, you know. Begged me to come over. Then he had changed his mind once I finally arrived. I don't like when people change their minds." The man lowered his voice. Every word sounded like pure venom, and John couldn't do a thing besides wait for his chance. He knew it would come.

"The apartment? Well that was merely a message. You don't mess with me, Doctor Watson. You don't lie to me, you don't manipulate me. Your boyfriend here did all of those things." He nodded his head in Sherlock's direction. "Like I said, I don't like when people change their minds. If they do, I'll have to punish them. You understand that, don't you Doctor Watson? You are a man of order after all." He had now approached John so they were barely half a meter apart, the gun now pressing right against his forehead.

"I think you also understand that I have to kill you. And then I will make your boyfriend watch your cold, bloody corpse, before I kill him too. After all, that would be the worst torture in the world, wouldn't it?"

His finger was right on the trigger. 'Any minute now', John thought. He steeled himself against that evil smile; waiting…waiting… then the moment finally presented itself.

A voice from downstairs was shouting _"RYAN" _and that was all it took for the man in front of John, (he was Ryan apparently), to lose concentration, just for a second. It was all John needed. His inner soldier took over his instincts and he quickly ducked under Ryan's arms, came up behind him and managed to pin his arms behind his back. Ryan dropped his gun and John kicked it away into the corner. He brought his right leg around Ryan's and jerked violently so the man fell forwards, John tumbling down on him. He was vaguely aware of the noise and the voices coming from downstairs, but he didn't have time to register before he found himself on his back, the punches repeatedly hitting his face. John felt his lip burst open and the blood trickle down his chin. He closed his eyes and prepared himself for the blow to the temple he knew would make him black out, and he cursed himself for getting into this situation.

But the final punch never came. Instead, what sounded like a herd of animals rushed into the bedroom, knocking Ryan over so that John could breathe properly again. John wanted to cry as he heard Lestrade's voice shouting instructions to his staff of police-men. He opened his eyes and quickly scribbled to his feet. He watched as Ryan and the other, still unconscious man, were being hand-cuffed and dragged out of the room, the disgusting smile finally wiped from his face.

John found himself drawn to Sherlock again, checking his pulse and his breathing. They were both weak and shallow, but he was alive. There were hands that tried to jerk him away from Sherlock but he just held on tighter, as if his life depended on it. But then Lestrade's soothing voice was there, urging John to let go and he did as he was told, watching the paramedics load Sherlock onto a stretcher. He followed them into the waiting ambulance, his head buzzing from tiredness and adrenaline. He tried to answer all the questions, but found he didn't know very much of what Sherlock had been through. The memories of their fight and John's stubborn three-day exile started to return to him, and he grunted as the guilt finally settled heavy on top of him. It was his fault, it was his entire fault.

He took Sherlock's hand in his own, squeezing it lightly. His pulse had not grown any stronger, and his reflexes were practically non-existent. John was not in his soldier-mode any more, nor was he the doctor. He was just a man praying that his best friend, _his boyfriend,_ would recover, would survive. When they arrived at the hospital, Sherlock were immediately wheeled into a room to be taken care of. Blood-tests were to be done, and he needed a large amount of stitches on his forehead and arms.

John watched until the last curls of the almost lifeless Sherlock wasn't visible anymore, and the door closed behind.

Then he broke down.


	20. Chapter 20

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Chapter 20

Three days. Seventy-two hours.

That's how long it took for Sherlock to finally wake up. He had had approximately twelve different kinds of drugs in his system, all of which could be lethal in too large doses, so they clearly hadn't meant to actually kill him with the drugs, just immobilize until they had decided what to do. He had also had a lot of minor cuts on his chest and arms, and the gash across his forehead which had been stitched up.

John hadn't left Sherlock's bedside more than about three hours in total. The second day Mycroft had sent him home to get a shower, change his clothes and get some sleep. John had agreed to the first two alternatives, but he had returned within an hour, too worried about Sherlock to keep himself away for any longer. Mycroft had been there a lot of the time during the days, though they had barely taken any notice of each other, both of them lost in thoughts and hopes that Sherlock would wake up as soon as possible. Lestrade had popped by in the evenings, tried to chat a bit with John and then dragged a reluctant Mycroft home to his _(their?) _flat.

On the third day however, Lestrade had taken the day off and were sitting alongside Sherlock's bed, holding Mycroft's hand and throwing anxious glances at John. John was silently jealous of them, having each other all…living. He looked at Sherlock. Over the past days he had really realized just how much the other man meant to him. At first, it had looked like he weren't even going to make it since the large doses of too many different drugs had momentarily made his heart stop. It had been the worst hours of John's life. He didn't know what he would do if he'd lost Sherlock. _Again._ And he would never have forgiven himself for not making things right between them. They hadn't even seen each other for three days since their fight which, at the moment, seemed like a childish whim. And even though Sherlock had actually asked John for help despite all that, John still felt a little anxious at how Sherlock would react once he saw John.

John didn't have to ponder on that for much longer. He gasped as the lifeless hand he held in his own for three days suddenly twitched. Sherlock's fingers flexed and he closed them around John's. He slowly opened his eyes and tried to fix them on something. They ended up on John and Sherlock seemed to decide that he was safe. John quickly kicked into the doctor-mode again, and he started to examine Sherlock's pupils. "Sherlock how are you feeling? Does it hurt anywhere? Are you tired?" John sounded almost desperate. But Sherlock just smiled, closed his eyes and said in a weak voice

"You are here John. I'm feeling fantastic." John was a bit taken aback by the words, and asked hesitantly "Are…are you sure?"

"Of course I am. I love you John."

John felt how his blush rose on his cheeks, and glanced over at Mycroft and Lestrade. They were conveniently enough not looking at them at the moment, and John secretly thanked Lestrade for being so delicate as to direct Mycroft's attention elsewhere. He felt as though his heart would burst, but he was also painfully aware that Sherlock were dizzy and might say just about anything at the moment. Sherlock had already fallen asleep again, but John felt immensely relieved just knowing that he would be alright. He even accepted to go out for a bit, and he and Lestrade went to a nearby restaurant to eat something, while Mycroft remained with his brother.

Sherlock's words went round and round in John's head, and Lestrade seemed to understand that talking weren't really an option. He texted a few people about something work-related, but they ate in silence. Sherlock had said _'I love you'_. He had actually said that. John didn't hesitate for a second that he loved Sherlock, that much had been pretty obvious for a long time. But he still found it a bit hard to believe the words when they came from Sherlock. He was not in his right mind at the moment. What if he didn't even remember saying that to John? Or even worse, what if he hadn't meant if? John cringed, but decided to deal with that eventual problem later, he had worried too much these last days that any sane person in the same situation would go crazy.

John and Lestrade left the restaurant an hour later and found Sherlock sitting up straight and talking to Mycroft. He seemed to be back a bit at his usual self, because he snapped at Mycroft, although he didn't seem to put much effort in it. He looked tired, but his eyes shone when John entered the room, his gaze immediately fixing on him and completely blocking Mycroft out. Mycroft sighed, said goodbye to John and his rude brother, took Lestrade by the hand and closed the door.

"Your brother has been here for almost the entire time, waiting for you to wake up. You might consider be a bit grateful or at least try to be…polite." John said. But Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

"Why on earth should I spend time talking to my annoying brother when you are here John?"

John wondered I Sherlock was still a bit high. Maybe he had increased his morphine-dose? It wouldn't be the first time. But it seemed like the praise came from an un-affected Sherlock. John had still a bit hard to adapt to the praise so he just smiled at Sherlock, raising a hand to brush away some curls from Sherlock's face. They sat there for what felt like hours just looking at each other. They were interrupted by a doctor that came in and checked in on Sherlock. She told them that he could probably go home the following day, as long as he promised to rest for at least a week. Sherlock had opened his mouth as if to argue at this, but John had quickly promised that he would make sure Sherlock stayed off chasing bad guys for a week. She left, and they were once again alone.

The atmosphere was a bit weird, in John's opinion. Sherlock seemed like he had re-discovered John and threw him compliments at random times. They didn't talk about the past days; it was a bit too early for that. Finally, the tiredness overcame Sherlock and he tried to convince John to share his bed. John sighed, eventually giving up and climbing up the bed next to Sherlock. Sherlock immediately snuggled under John's arm, and within five minutes they were both asleep.


	21. Chapter 21

**Hello again! I'm sorry for the long wait, but I'm on holiday and haven't had access to internet until now. A big thanks to my latest follower: mad-minds! :) And just a huge, big, fat thank you to everyone who is reading, commenting and reviewing this, you are my inspiration!**

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Chapter 21

Sherlock had been permitted to go home the following day, as long as he promised to rest. He did not approve of this, but John gave him a look that he didn't dare to argue with. John had seated Sherlock on the sofa, more or less forced him to eat and he'd just put a cup of tea in front of him. He sat down in his chair opposite, a cup in his own hands. It was very silent. John had a million questions burning inside his head, just waiting to pop out at the wrong moment. He didn't want to upset Sherlock in any way, but he couldn't trust himself to not spill something, so he just kept quiet. Sherlock noticed of course.

"John? There is something wrong, I can tell. Please tell me what it is." Sherlock's voice was soft. John opened and closed his mouth a few times, debating whether or not to bring up the subject they had so carefully avoided so far. He finally surrendered, they had to deal with this sometime, and they might as well get it over with. Besides, John felt he couldn't keep his emotions in check for much longer. He took a deep breath and said simply "You called him."

"Called who?" Sherlock asked. The drugs had clearly not gotten out of his system; usually he would have known exactly what John meant.

"You called Ryan. YOU called him." John felt nauseated just by saying the name. "I thought you'd been kidnapped, murdered and cut to pieces. I had about forty-five different scenarios in my head when I came home to an empty and completely wrecked apartment, each one worse than the last. I was so angry that someone had taken you…from me…that they had taken you against your will. But that wasn't the case, was it?" John's voice sounded strained, and he could barely keep from shouting. "How the _HELL_ could you voluntarily call a psychopathic, murderous, cold-hearted drug-dealer who, on top of all that wanted to sleep with you? It wasn't even part of the case was it? What the fuck were you thinking Sherlock?" John hadn't even noticed when he had stood up, but now he was hovering over Sherlock on the sofa, boring his eyes into the other man's.

Sherlock tried to rise, but John shoved him down again. Even though he was furious, his inner doctor couldn't help but interfere. Sherlock glared at him, but John was determined not to back down. The silence filled the room once more, but Sherlock eventually broke it.

"You had left me John." He sounded…defeated, John thought. "You had left me, and it hurt and it was all my fault and you were right, because I break things, I always break things and I broke you and I just couldn't live with it and the only thing I could think about was to get out of my mind. I needed a break from myself."

John's anger was still fuming. "You could have called _anyone_ Sherlock!? Are you that bloody self-destructive that you…" John stopped himself as Sherlock looked up, his eyes tear-filled.

"You had left me John. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think." He made a small pause. "And yes I am that 'bloody self-destructive', but I hardly think it is the proper time to question my personality. You know who I am, you've always known John."

"I don't 'question your personality' Sherlock, I would never do that. But it's because of that I'm so furious at you. Look, I'm sorry for everything I said, I didn't mean a thing. You didn't break me Sherlock, you put me together. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. You are my life, and I was so scared of loosing you and just the knowledge that you did this on your own…it hurts, because I wasn't there to stop you, to protect you." John's voice cracked at the end. The emotions he had tried so hard to push aside for the past week, ever since he'd left the flat after seeing the text, were quickly coming to the surface.

Sherlock's facial expressions changed so fast that John didn't even have time to identify them all. Eventually he said "I never meant to hurt you John. I just wanted to hurt myself. It's what I do, and it's what I've always done. I am so sorry."

John wanted to shake the man in front of him, to scream that he was worth more than that. Instead he said "It's…fine. It's all fine now. But call me next time; I don't care if we've had a fight or if I'm at the other side of the country. Call me, Sherlock. We'll work it out together, okay?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Okay then. Good. This does not mean that I'm not still mad at you…and would you please stop staring at my lips?!" John exclaimed as the detective's eyes had been glued to his mouth for the last five minutes. The next second he found himself against the wall, Sherlock towering over him.

"I'm coming down, John." He breathed into John's ear.

"Wh-what?" John found it suddenly difficult to speak, but he still tried to put up some resistance as he was supposed to be mad at Sherlock, though he had a pretty hard time to remember why at the moment.

"The drugs are leaving my system and I'm coming down. I need a distraction, or I'm not sure what I'm going to do." He spoke down John's neck and kissed him on the shoulder. Then he looked up, straight into John's eyes. "Will you distract me John?" It was a question, but it sounded more like pleading. John hesitated for a couple of seconds, and debated whether to give in to his desire or be The Doctor and put Sherlock to rest. Besides, they should talk about things…

He met Sherlock's gaze and decided that words were pretty overrated anyway. He closed the distance between them, and he put all his emotions into the kiss. All the worry he'd felt, the frustration, the guilt, the love…

It was different this time. Their kisses were fiercer and more heated than ever before, and John felt as though his insides were on fire again. They didn't stop this time. They had waited for the perfect moment, and they both knew that it was now. They ended up in Sherlock's bedroom, exploring, feeling, touching, loving each other. It was perfect.

Afterwards, John lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sherlock was half asleep by his side. John didn't want to ruin the moment, but he had to ask.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm..?" He answered sleepily.

"How much do you remember from the hospital?"

"Everything. Why?"

"Everything? Do you remember what you said… I mean, did you mean…" John didn't know how to put it, but Sherlock understood anyway.

"Do I remember telling you that I love you? Yes I have a quite clear memory of that." Sherlock smiled.

John tried to ignore the lump in his throat. He closed his eyes, swallowed and looked up again and smiled back.

"I love you too."


	22. Chapter 22

**Hello everyone! I'm terribly sorry for the long wait, but school's been a bitch and I'm going away for a couple of days next week so it has just been a lot to do. Anyhow, as always I want to thank my latest followers/favouriters: calgary9673 and Kotten, you are lovely! That goes for everyone who is sticking with this story, I love you all!**

**Comments/reviews are always appreciated! Keep smiling :)**

Chapter 22

Even though they had woken up together a couple of times before, the morning after felt different. The whole atmosphere had changed somehow. John lay in the bed, watching Sherlock sleep. He looked so young, and so vulnerable. John savored the moment, knowing that it was a rare one.

After a while, Sherlock stirred and slowly seemed to come back to reality. He didn't say anything, but his hand searched John's and he laced their fingers together. John smiled. Sherlock could be really cuddly sometimes, though he would probably snap the neck on the person who dared to proclaim this out loud. That person would be John, since he was the only one who has actually seen Sherlock like this. But he definitely wanted to keep his neck intact, so he just made a mental note of it, and added it to the list of everything new he'd learned about Sherlock the past few weeks. John nudged at Sherlock, trying to wake him.

"Sherlock? How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Good. Fantastic." He seemed suddenly wide awake. "Thank you for…distracting me last night. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there."

"It's nothing. My pleasure." John said. He realized the double-meaning of that sentence when Sherlock started chuckling and they ended up giggling for ten minutes. Then they both fell silent again and looked at each other, the atmosphere suddenly a bit tense.

"We need to talk" John said quietly.

Sherlock nodded. "I know" he said, but didn't meet John's eyes.

"I'll make some tea. Get dressed and we'll talk over breakfast" John said as he got dressed and headed out into the kitchen. The previous night had been absolutely perfect, but they couldn't just walk around pretending everything was okay. John needed to know everything, and Sherlock knew that. John made tea and toast and sat down opposite Sherlock. "Okay" he said, bracing himself for what might come and looked Sherlock straight in the eye "I'm ready. Tell me."

Sherlock took a sip of his tea. He seemed to want to drag it out as much as possible, but then he looked up at John and seemed to make up his mind.

"Okay. After you…left the flat after seeing the text, I was wrecked. It was like being back a couple of years, before I met you. Everyone leaves me John, everyone. But you didn't. But then you saw the text and I knew I had broken you. That I had messed everything up, like I always do. I knew there were more rational ways of dealing with the situation, but you were gone and I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe. The only thing I could think about was to forget, just for a couple of hours. I needed…something soothing."

"Drugs" John cut in. Sherlock looked up from his tea-cup, where his eyes had been glued for the past minutes. A faint blush tainted his cheeks, but he nodded.

"Yes, drugs. I knew that I couldn't get in touch with my old contacts, because Mycroft would have known about it in less than five minutes. I didn't know what to do, and then it just hit me. I knew that Ryan wanted me, in more than one way. I also knew that he could provide me with what I needed at the moment. It was a terrible idea to get in touch with him without telling Lestrade, I know that, but I just didn't care at the moment. So I called Ryan, making it sound like I wanted to make a trade with him. But when he came over he started to…touch me" John clenched his fists in jealousy. "and I just knew right away that I could never go through with it. And when I told him he got furious. He started to beat me up, and then I became unconscious and the next time I woke up I was in some large room, a storage or something I think. I'm not quite sure, they had given me something by then so it's a bit blurry."

"It was a warehouse, by the port. We were there after they had moved you, we tracked your phone." John explained, and it seemed to give Sherlock another puzzle-piece. John knew how frustrating it must be for Sherlock, not being exactly sure about the details.

"Oh. Yes that explains the noise and the smell of sea." Sherlock said, more to himself than to John.

"Well anyway. I remember trying to text you, but they discovered it and threw away my phone. Then they hit me again, I think it was when this happened" he gestured towards his forehead "and the next time I woke up I was at the house. I was pretty much pumped with various drugs the entire time, but at one moment I felt a bit like myself and I managed to look out the window and deduce where I was. The next time someone entered the room I pick-pocketed their phone and texted you. And well, the rest you know.

John cleared his throat in lack of a better response. He still had questions, but his thoughts were in a complete mess. "Why didn't they kill you?" He said after a while. Sherlock thought about it for a moment.

"I think they were planning to use me as a bribe to get away from the police or something. They sedated me enough to immobilize me, but not enough to be lethal. I have no idea where all the cuts come from though; I just remember a lot of pain."

John winced. He really hated the idea of Sherlock in pain. He fell silent; contemplating everything he had told him. He wasn't mad at Sherlock anymore; he just felt a white hot rage against those who'd done this to him. "Do you still have questions?" Sherlock asked, sounding a bit hesitant. John thought about it, but couldn't come up with anything at the moment. Besides he wasn't sure he could hear anymore before he'd run off and beat the crap out of Ryan and his fellows. He shook his head. "Not at the moment, no."

"Okay" Sherlock nodded, understanding just what John felt. "I have a question."

"Of course, yes. What is it?"

"Can we go back to bed now?"

John smiled. There was nothing else they could do at the moment, Lestrade was the police after all and John knew he would definitely deal with this whole thing correctly. All he wanted to do was spending time with Sherlock, holding him and just be happy that they were together after all of this.

He nodded and took Sherlock's hand, dragging him into the bedroom once more.


End file.
